


Daft Pretty Boys

by Jaybele



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Bad Flirting, Heavy Drug/Alcohol Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lance is a trainwreck and I'm sorry, M/M, Mention of sex, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Underage Drinking, Well everything about this AU is a trainwreck enjoy, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-06-23 04:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybele/pseuds/Jaybele
Summary: Keith got no time to waste on another pretty face. Lance, all the time in the world for chasing pretty girls.That's what they tell themselves when they start sneaking into each other's bedrooms in the wee hours of night after one of Lambda Omega Nu's epic parties. But are these pretty boys ready to deal with the consequences of this unspoken arrengement of theirs, or is someone bound to end up hurt?





	1. Oh, it's Saturday night.

**Author's Note:**

> A few words before we begin:
> 
> This fic is about the consequences of entering a sexual relationship without being prepared to deal with the feelings that may come with it, or willingness to face the reasons that led you to want it in the first place. It deals with murky, dubious subjects and they stumble a lot before learning to communicate and accept each other. I can promise they'll learn, but this isn't an unproblematic story from the get-go.
> 
> If this is the kind of story that gives you anxiety or makes you sad, I probably don't recommend it for you. That being said, if bad decision making, problematic love lives and emotional trainwrecks in general are your cup of tea - then by all means, carry on. Enjoy the ride!
> 
> Also, all my love and appreciation to @firerinart for beta'ing the first chapter while on vacation! Her skills are fantastic (and she indulged my excessive use of italics). Rin, you're a precious bean and I'd be lost without your help. Thank you once more ♡

It starts with a party.

Because it always starts with a party.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

The bass is pulsing. It’s one of those trendy pop songs. Meant for grinding.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

There are pretty green lights. And red. And blue. And that vodka - or was it tequila? - was definitely laced with something.

Keith wishes he could be high all the time. The world is so much prettier. So much colourful. So much… quieter.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

It’s funny, right? ‘Cause it’s a party. Parties are noisy. Everybody knows that. But tonight, the music is washing through the chatter. Hits Keith lazily, like a wave in slow motion. It  _ feels _ loud, reverberating  through his bones, but all that reaches his ears are deep bass vibrations. And he  _ feels _ like he’s gonna melt. He feels everything. Like one of those dreams where you have to get somewhere really fast, and you have to run, but no matter how you hard you kick your legs, you can barely move.

Everyone describes being drunk as having the world spinning around you. But for Keith it’s more like… an aquarium. Like he’s seeing the world through a thick wall of water.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

He sees Lance. Fuck, he looks gorgeous. Since when did Lance become gorgeous?

Keith can see him through the crowd, with his friends. Jumping up, and down, up, and down, up and down. Must be a good song, he looks so into it. His sweaty hair clings to his forehead. He moves in slow motion, to the blink of the strobing lights. Engulfed by an ocean of people, while something shiny dances on his neck. There’s neon on his wrists. Neon on his face. Neon on his teeth. His mouth is open wide.

And Keith is in his favourite red top, and his leggings clad softly around his thighs, and his body is swaying to the rhythm of the music. 

Is Lance shouting? Keith can’t tell. Must be, he looks happy. Like he’s having a good time. Lance has always been loud.

Loud…Keith bets he would make all kinds of delicious noises.

 

**BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!**

Fuck.

Curse Keith’s blaring alarm clock. He swears his head is going to split in half. 

With a groan, he sits up. Kicks his sheets away. Fishes the damn phone from inside a pile of dirty clothes, tossing it across the room. It stops. He hopes he didn’t break the stupid thing, he sure as hell can’t afford a new one right now.

Sunlight blinds his eyes, making his head throb. Curse Shiro and curse his hideous curtains. What’s the point of having them if he never  _ shuts them? _ Keith walks over to the window and yanks them together, finally getting rid of the offending sunlight that tainted their shared bedroom.

Blissful darkness.

Shiro is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s already up and about the house bossing hungover frat brothers around. His bed is made and everything. Keith barely makes it back to his messy one, plopping down like a sack of potatoes, before the sanctity of his hangover is disturbed again by more noise!

“Keith, are you up?” Speak of the devil.

“Can you please keep it down? It’s fucking noon, people are trying to sleep here!” he covers his ears, shouting back.

“Sure can, sleeping beauty!” Shiro yells from across the walls, not a decibel lower, “That is, if you wanna be late for work, of course!”

Shit, work…

Work!

“Why didn’t you wake me up!!”  

Keith darts across the room, grabs his toiletry bag and stumbles past a chuckling Shiro on his way out. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How could he forget work? He barges into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, as his brother yells behind him one last time:

“Good morning to you too!”

He shuts the door. Tosses his bag somewhere on the sink counter.

Keith looks at himself in the mirror. Takes a moment to access whatever mess of a man last night turned him into. He looks pale, and his hair is sticking out in all kinds of weird directions, and there aren’t only bags under his eyes, but actual suitcases. He feels like there’s poison running through his veins, and the longer he stands the more he feels like he’s going to collapse. He falters, as his head spins dangerously, and holds on to the sink, just in case. Shit, he’s a wreck, there's no way he can get to work like this.

Skull pounding, he turns on the faucet, scoops some water in his hands, and drinks it. He has a serious case of cotton mouth, so he does it a couple more times before grabbing his stuff to brush his teeth. It’s okay, - he pep talks himself as his zombified body protests the effort - a clean mouth will make it better. He knows the drill already, but Sunday shifts are especially difficult. If only he could take some aspirin, get back in bed and wallow in the dark as his body recovered from his poor life choices...

Keith checks his tongue piercing for any swelling or redness after he’s done with his morning routine, last thing he needs now is having it get infected. Once he makes sure it’s safe, he gathers his breath and faces the atonement walk back to his bedroom through the hideously bright hall.

Stumbling and feeling like he’s gonna be sick, he finally makes it back. Shiro is gone again, and Keith picks up his abused phone from the carpeted floor, only to find it’s already 8:45. Yup, he’s not gonna make it. He texts Shay and asks if she can please,  _ please _ stall the manager until he gets there.

**Shay:**

_ sure thing, party boy, but u owe me one _

_ lambda kick your ass too hard last night? _

**Keith:**

_ You have no idea. I think someone laced my drink? _

**Shay:**

_ yikes :( _

_ if anyone asks I’ll say you have a stomach ache or smth  _

_ but take some medicine, eat something and drink lots of water before you get here _

Shay is such a precious bean. Always covering for him when he’s in bad, post-alcoholic conditions. Which is way too often for his own good, if not for his liver but for his job! He wonders how come Mr. Slav hasn’t fired his ass yet, given how many times he’s called in sick or arrived late for his Sunday shifts. Keith would ask to have it changed, he would, but with football practice, a conundrum of classes, frat duties, and his plants to tend to, Sunday is one of the only days he’s free to work. And, boy, does he need the money. Of course, he could always skip on parties more often, but… What can he say? He  _ is  _ a frat boy after all.

But enough with college life musing. He has shit to get together.

Keith changes and retrieves his wallet, house keys, and phone; the only three things a man needs after a night out. Then grabs the sports bag behind the door and he’s good to go. 

One last look in Shiro’s mirror tells him he still looks like shit, but it’ll have to do for the day. Plus, he doubts anyone downstairs will look much better. He faces his old foe, the morning sun in the hallway, and finds it not to be as bad. Makes his way down the three flights of stairs that separate the bedrooms from the communal area, where a torrent of hungover brothers make their way through piles and piles of empty beer cans, red cups, tin foil wraps and all kinds of post-rager waste. As a good Frat Dad, Shiro always nags everyone into cleaning the morning-after mess, which makes Lambda Omega Nu one of the only half decent houses on Greek Row in terms of hygiene.  _ Half decent _ , mind you.

“Ayy, why do you heathens always put the pots on the cupboards?” Lance McClain’s voice booms inside Keith’s skull the second he steps foot into the living room. Dude seems to have never heard of a thing called indoor voice. “How’s a man supposed to put the plates away?”

How’s a man supposed to power through a monster hangover with some clueless jerk yelling around, that’s the real question...

“Then where do you reckon they belong, smart-ass?”

“Inside the oven, of course. Duh.”

The unphased brother turns his back on Lance, to which he sticks out his tongue. 

Standing behind the kitchen island, Lance is the perfect picture of what you’d expect to find inside a house in Greek Row. Basking in the fuck boy glory of his tank top, white shorts and snapback, he carefully removes the pots from the cupboard and places them inside the oven, where they so clearly belong. Seriously though, what need is there to wear a snapback indoors on a Sunday morning? Keith doesn’t keep his gaze on him long enough to find an answer, as he spots Shiro across the room among a group of juniors, waving his hands and making broad gestures as they wince. Dude looks pretty pissed. Keith wonders what could they have possibly done to warrant such a reaction from Mr. “Patience Yields Focus”.

His thoughts are interrupted when a certain clueless jerk takes notice of his presence.

“Ooh, good morning, mami!” Lance exclaims. Good morning _ who,  _ now? “Looks like someone has finally awoken from their beauty sleep. I know your head is probably killing you right now, but you gotta help us clean this mess. Help yourself to Hunk’s French toast first, though, there are some left on the counter.”

Why is Lance talking to him like they’re friends? They’re not friends.

But eeh… Who’s he to turn down French toast?

Still confused by Lance’s sudden thoughtfulness, Keith drags himself over to the kitchen. He doesn’t see Hunk around, although he vaguely remembers a big figure with neon-clad wrists from  last night. He doesn’t know much about the dude, except that he’s always at their parties, has some hella tattoos, and is nice enough to make everyone breakfast before going back to his dorm. Keith’s fingers are soon sticky with butter and his mouth is stuffed with room-temperature French toast, and he can’t help a surge of appreciation for the guy.

Lance once again breaks into his bubble, as he places a glass of water in front of Keith with… a little more flare than necessary.  That’s when he fully registers: why the fuck is Lance being so nice?

Keith blinks.

“Figured you’d need it.” And then Lance winks at him.

He winks.

Keith stares at the creature before him. Lingers on the sight of his skin. His hair. His clothes. His eyes. He stares into those eyes that just winked at him and something rouses inside him as he finds a mischievous glint there. 

Wait a second, when did Lance become so attractive?

Aaaand - Lance turns his back on him, and the moment is gone. Seriously though, was he flirting with Keith…?

See, it’s not that Keith is bad at flirting back - assuming there was anything to flirt back to. Hell, he’s a sucker for gratuitous flirting, even on a hungover morning when he’s mildly aware that he’s late for work and his brain is only half awake. But c’mon, this is Lance they’re talking about! The man has never exchanged words with him past the point of “Pass the remote” or “Get out the way, you’re blocking the keg.” Dare Keith say, there’s some unspoken animosity between them. They belong to completely different worlds. With Keith being on the football team and Lance on the soccer one... And Keith sipping vodka at the corner of parties while Lance does keg stands. And well, let’s face it - Lance being as hetero dudebro as they come and Keith being as gay as you get. Which brings him back to the baffling question at hand: Was Lance McStraight flirting with him, handing him food and water and winks and shit?

And Keith didn’t even respond. Just stared at him like a deer in the headlights, for fuck’s sake. 

He has half a mind to mutter “Thanks…” under his breath before taking a sip of the water. Lance raises a thumb and chirps “Don’t mention it!” as he deals with the remaining plates. His tone is light and absent-minded, but Keith can’t shake the unexpected buzz that takes hold of his body. He finds himself chasing the feeling:

“Sooo… You wouldn’t happen to know what’s up with the drama going on over there?” He probes, taking his turn to pique Lance’s interest. If Lance really  _ is  _ flirting, Keith’s probably fallen prey to a move as old as time, Lance baiting him with niceness then turning away. But fuck, he can’t bring himself to pull back now.

Lance turns back, all the dishes inside the cupboard now, and follows Keith’s gaze to the group of guys under Shiro’s scrutiny. 

“Oh, you mean  _ that _ ? Major drama indeed,  _ mami _ .” Lance trails off, clicking his tongue. There’s that word again.

He slowly approaches the counter where Keith’s seated, almost like… a lion stalking its prey. It occurs to Keith that  _ he _ ’s the prey. Wow. Not cliché at all. But he kinda likes the anticipation building in his stomach, so he allows Lance to proceed with his theatrics. He finally leans over the counter, crossing his arms and dropping his head into Keith’s personal space, like they’re sharing a top secret conversation.

Keith’s eyes catch on the small cross that dangles from Lance’s neck with a clinking sound. He’s  aware of how dubiously close the other is, enough that Keith can now see that there are freckles dusting his shoulders, and boy, is he confused by how breathtaking he finds them. It’s just freckles, for fuck’s sake. But then the freckles turn his attention to the soft curve of Lance’s biceps, and to the sharpness of his collarbones, and Keith has to turn his gaze right back to Lance’s face before his thoughts lead him somewhere dangerous.

“So?” Keith lifts one eyebrow, upon finding Lance’s eyes pinned to him. 

“Oh yeah. Shiro said the Juniors crushed some E on the vodka last night.” His face grows loomy, and he nods over to Shiro, who’s still lecturing the group.  “Dangerous shit, you can send someone to the hospital.”

Oh.

Keith had the vodka.

Lance grimaces in sympathy as realisation probably washes over his face. So someone  _ had  _ fucked up his drink.

“Yup. That’s why I figured you needed the extra sleep and water.” His lips curl in a genuine smile, intense drama giving way to casual banter. “Big bad boss over there wanted to go wake you up an hour ago, but I said he should pro’lly let you sleep in. Trust me, alcohol and molly? Been there, done that. You spend the entire day after feeling like your brain was slowly ground in a coffee machine. Not the kind of experience you wanna have twice.” Lance offers him a giggle.

Keith laughs along, and finds the sudden blabber quite endearing. Would you look at that, who’d have thought he would end up discussing the effects of poor recreational drug choices with this guy Lance? Keith.... likes it. They chatter for a bit about their stupid, reckless frat brothers, and possible hangover remedies. Lance pokes Keith on the arm a couple times. 

Then Shiro finally makes his way back, nostrils still flaring, but calm otherwise. It’s not common for him to lose his temper, but even when he does he still manages to keep his shit together. Still a little taken aback by all the unexpected interaction with Lance, Keith says his goodbyes and heads over to Shiro.

“Hey, there. Lance said you were scolding those guys for lacing the alcohol with drugs last night, what’s with all that?”

“Ugh, don’t even get me started. Those little punks are getting out of control, it’s the second time they’ve done that. They’re putting heavy stuff in unsuspecting people’s drinks, we could all get in big trouble. Told them they’ll probably get suspended, and might face expulsion from the frat if they pull this shit again. I can’t believe this is some people’s idea of a joke.” Shiro vents, pinching the bridge of his nose. “By the way, I heard you were one of the victims?”

Keith snorts.  _ One of the victims. _

“Holy shit, don’t make it sound like they jumped me in the back of an alley. It was pretty intense, but I think I’m okay now.”

“You sure? I heard this kind of thing can take quite a toll on your body.” Shiro eyes him suspiciously, and Keith almost expects him to put a hand to his forehead and check for his temperature.

“Relaaax, I’m good. Survived worse, actually... My head still hurts and I’m feeling kinda sluggish, now that I think about it.” No joke, though. Now that the adrenaline from his hectic start of a morning is wearing off, he’s back to feeling like all energy has left his body. “It was probably good that you let me sleep in…”

“Yeah, I  _ was  _ gonna wake you up for work. Speaking of which…” Shiro’s tired face suddenly lights up in a sly grin “I saw you over there chit-chatting with our hangover expert.”

“What? Who, Lance?” Keith tries to shake his jelly brain awake “Oh yeah, crazy right? He was talking to me like we’re long time friends. Had no idea he even knew so much about the effects of mixing drugs and shit…”

“You seemed to know him well enough, last time I checked...” His smile has gone full-on Cheshire cat now. Keith has officially lost control of whatever the fuck is going on in this conversation.

“Last time…?” Wait.

It suddenly occurs to Keith that, aside from a big blob of neon lights, he doesn’t remember most of last night.

“Shiro” he gives the man a warning glare “Shiro, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing, nothing…” the Frat President throws his hands up, feigning innocence. “Look, if you don’t remember, I ain’t gonna be the one to break the news to you!”

“ _ What? _ What the fuck happened last night, Shiro? Tell me right now!”

Keith stomps closer to Shiro, to which the asshole backs down with a beaming smile like he’s having the time of his life.

“Relax, man, it’s no big deal…” he snickers, which means it’s  _ obviously  _ a big deal. “Hey, weren’t you late for work?”

Fuck.

Work...!

  
  


Keith tumbles down from his skateboard, halting just before his face gets a chance to get chummy with the concrete sidewalk.

His phone says it’s 9:51. Not horrible, he guesses. 

He looks inside the big windows of the bookshop. Shay is at the cashier, beaming warmly at a customer while she bags their books. Keith would never understand how she could be so bubbly and ask to hear about the day of every single costumer and not go insane. But there she is, clearly enjoying the social interaction. Extroverts, go figure... Mr. Slav’s stumpy figure is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably in his office taking inventory or something - and fretting over the book lists being sorted alphabetically and not chronologically, no doubt. Maybe Keith has a chance to get inside unnoticed and pretend like he’s been here all morning. 

He takes a deep breath and walks in.

Shay shoots him a sassy glare the second she spots him. He tries his best to shrug apologetically, and opts for going in the back to leave his stuff and get changed.

As he puts on his apron, he is finally left alone with his thoughts long enough to contemplate this morning’s events. His interaction with Lance, in particular. It  _ might  _ have been a little while since… he’s been with anyone. Maybe long enough for him to be imagining things...

He huffs.

Keith has no time for castle-building.

When he makes his way back, Shay is already done with the customer. He wishes he hadn’t left in such a hurry, having time to grab a cup of coffee before having to interact with human beings would have made his life so much easier.

“Hey there, Mr. Frat Boy.”

“Hey, Shay! Thanks for covering up for me, I was a wreck this morning! Still kinda am, to be honest”

“Don’t mention it, honey! Did you put some fuel in that body of yours before showing up here?”

“Yes, ma’am! Seriously though, I owe you big time.”

“Yeah, right. Add that to the huge list of favors you already owe me for stalling Slav. Lucky for you, he’s been going bananas over the new order that came in last week… Said it’s unacceptable that they didn’t come sorted by color.” She rambles, while sorting through a cart of books by the counter.

“Speaking of which, sweetie, you could totally put these returns back for me, couldn’t you?”

“Sure! I mean, you could ask me to eat a swarm of bees and I’d have to do it, given how indebted to you I am…”

“Wonderful! Then could you organise the shelves in section B while you’re at it? Plaxum was meant to do that yesterday, but I think she left early.”

“Uugh… Yeah, why not?” He couldn’t go back on his word now. Customers had a shitty habit of putting books back all out of whack, instead of leaving them on the return baskets, or even trying to remember the right spot before grabbing one. Spotting the mess and putting everything back in order was tedious work, but Keith can’t complain. He  _ is  _ trying to stay in Shay’s good graces afterall. Plus, she’s a darling, but a chatterbox nevertheless. With the pounding in his head, he can use some alone time in section B. 

And it’s good having work to put his mind off from circling around possible meanings for what happened this morning. It’s good to keep his hands busy and his mind clear. 

And for a while, he manages to stick to the mechanical task of grabbing a book from the cart, putting it on the shelf. Pick a book from the cart, put it back on the shelf. Pick a book from the cart, and seriously though, was Lance flirting with him this morning or not, goddamnit?

Shit, there he goes.

Okay, he can’t say the sudden attention didn’t stroke his ego. Life has been so hectic with his overloaded schedule, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel that  _ tingle _ …! He’d been baffled,  _ sure _ , but  everytime he thinks about it, the less shocked he is and the more... The more flustered he is, okay? Keith is a healthy young man, with a perfectly functioning biology, it’s only natural that he would take interest when a member of the same sex fucking winks at him. He was flirting. He had to be.

There was no way Lance was flirting with him. Fucking Lance McClain, I mean, look at the guy! He oozed straightness. And everyone knows about his reputation. Lance, the lover boy. Lance, the womanizer. Lance, who always came back from his bedroom with a different girl at the wee hours of the night. Keith had been there himself to witness the aftermatch of his extracurricular activities a couple times, when he’d be down by the living room riding out a night of insomnia, and Lance would come downstairs muss-haired with a chick making the walk of shame back to her dorm. 

Sure, his face wasn’t half bad to look at. And the subtle sway of his hips when he walked around the house in slacks, now that Keith thinks about it, is pretty charming. And he had that air of confidence that all guys who get with a lot of chicks have. Keith is a sucker for that. Even though he knows it’s a certain recipe for disaster. But the cock of those eyebrows, the twist of his smirk, the way he had come to Keith unprovoked, completely out of nowhere, had caught him by surprise and left him absolutely astonished. Fuck, fuck fuck. He’s probably imagining things. Keith has gotten with Straight Dudes™ before. The curious ones who want to experiment behind closed walls but still wanna hold on to their masculinity and reputation, because “it’s only gay if the balls touch”, and no homo bro, and all that shit. And he sure doesn’t fancy a trip down memory lane. Either he’s imagining things and Lance was just a friendly guy extending his extroversion towards Keith, or he  _ was  _ flirting, despite being so unabashedly obvious about being into women. And Keith doesn’t know which is worse. Because maybe,  _ just maybe _ , there’s a part of Keith that stubbornly hopes it’s not the first option.

But wait, fuck, wasn’t he meant to keep his mind off Lance...?

And before Keith notices, he’s gone through three entire sections and it’s been 40 minutes since he started putting the books away. He is almost done with the business section when his phone - which was  _ not _ allowed to be in his pocket - rings with Pidge’s tone. Startled, he mutes it before opening up her text. 

**_Pidge:_ ** _ Yo. How’s my favourite emo doing? _

Keith looks both ways to make sure no one is around to see him neglect work even more, then quickly taps his response:

**Keith:**

_ Hungover af _

_ You? _

**_Pidge:_ **

_ Figured haha _

_ Same old, working on an algorithm for mapping out possible anomalies in non-coding RNAs _

Keith has no idea what that means. But his phone buzzes again.

**Pidge:**

_ Haven’t seen your ugly mug in a while, wanna go get coffee at the usual place after your shift? _

**Keith:**

_ Hahaha sure, short stuff _

_ Gotta be quick tho, I got football today _

_ Meet you there after my shift? _

**Pidge:**

_ You know it. _

Awesome. He hasn’t seen Pidge in a bit. If he’s lucky, she’ll have some insightful input on the odd behaviour of you average straight male. Or, in this case, your average Lance male. Pidge’s friendly with him, isn’t she? Through Hunk or something.

The rest of his shift goes by swiftly. Shay even tries to keep him off any overly-social tasks, like handling the cashier, since she knows his aversion to strangers is particularly bad on Sundays. Bless her soul. Soon Plaxum shows up to replace him, and he yanks his apron off, grabs his stuff, and pedals off on his skateboard to go meet Pidge.

 

She’s already waiting for him, waving on the sidewalk in front of the café. She crashes against him the second he stops, wrapping her arms around Keith like she’s trying to strangle him to death. For a little midget, she sure packs some strength in those arms, wow!

“Keef! It’s been ages, man” She chirps, using that ancient nickname Keith had definitely outgrown by now.

“It’s been literally two weeks!” He cackles, messing up her fringe while he’s at it. “And only because a certain someone is always too busy with a new nerd project to see me.”

“Drama queen.” They make their way inside, and the smell of coffee invades their nostrils “I mean, I  _ am  _ taking 21 credits this semester. What was I thinking when I enrolled for that many classes, my social life is spiralling into the gutter…”

“Just pay for my coffee when you’re rich from cracking the code for human cloning and we’ll call it even.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go grab a seat, you get our drinks?”

“Sure thing. One cappuccino, two shots of espresso?”

“You know me so well!” she beams, making her way to the sitting area while Keith heads for the counters.

When he’s back, Pidge has already picked a table and broke out The Laptop from her bag. She’s typing furiously, oblivious to the rest of the world. Typical Pidge, inviting him for coffee only to bury her nose in some latest project, exactly like she could have if she stayed alone in her dorm. Keith loves her. 

“So…” he breaks the ice, settling on the spot across her and sliding her the coffee. “How’re your algorithms going?”

“Not so well. I’m working on this group project, and my partner’s essay is all over the place. Girl can’t even color code, how am I supposed to write my part if I gotta keep going back to hers to fix her inconsistencies?”

Keith doesn’t respond. He’s not even sure what’s the issue here.

He’s already used to Pidge’s antics. Years and years of friendship taught him that sometimes she just needs to work through whatever stream of numbers and theories is going on in her head, too fast for her mouth to translate.

But then again, Keith has a stream of uncertainties flowing through his own brain today. He’s trying hard not to think about  _ him.  _ He is. This is Pidge time, his best friend, the only person in the world aside from Shiro with whom he can sit for hours in comfortable silence. Or discuss trivialities, or cryptid theories, or watch bad 90’s movies, and a million other little things that make his time with her treasurable. He’s not about to ruin the solace of her company by obsessing, and inevitably ranting, over the latest male related dilemma he’s facing. Pidge has dealt with his confused shit all through high school. He  _ won’t  _ think about Lance. Because if he thinks about Lance he’ll end up  _ talking  _ about Lance, and there’s an infinity of possible subjects other than -

“You’re awfully quiet.” Pidge cuts off her  _ tap tap tap _ for a second to give him a piercing look and take a sip from the coffee.

“I’ve… had a lot to process today.” He trails off, not sure if he wants to make a big deal out of something so small.

“Humor me. Your talking helps me set up a pace.” She goes back to typing immediately afterwards. “Plus, I can practically see the engines turning in your brain. Spit it out.”

Well, he  _ does  _ have a lot to process. There were the Juniors who laced the alcohol and could have sent someone to the hospital, there’s the headache that’s finally starting to subside after the coffee, there was Shay covering up for his late, hungover ass, there’s football practice he has to get to after this… There are literally a million things that should be on his mind besides -

“Lance McClain is suddenly flirting with me.” Keith blurts out.

“ _ Lance,  _ Lance? You know he flirts with everyone, right?” Pidge deadpans, eyes still glued to her laptop screen

“Yeah, but he’s never flirted with… me before” Lance has never flirted with  _ guys  _ before.

“Oh dear me, I wonder if it has anything to do with your recent... fraternal activities.” She snickers, frantically typing now.

“You mean Lambda? Fuck, yeah I was rolling balls last night, now that you mention it.” Keith rubs his temples, fighting back the ghost headache at the memory. He doesn’t think he’s ever repeating the experience. “Shiro said the Juniors are making a habit out of lacing the liquor with heavier stuff and not telling anybody...”

“Wait, so you don’t actually remember?” She giggles, finally stopping the typing and glaring at him. Oh shit. Keith had forgotten he’d had a similar conversation with Shiro. “You and Lance were grinding so. hard. last night. Apparently it was quite the show, I almost wish I had been there to see it.”

Keith gasps.

“ _ What?”  _ No, no, no. That’s clearly wrong because he would never grind on Lance _. “ _ I would  _ never _ grind on Lance!” He doesn’t even grind. On people. What the fuck. “How do you even know that?”

Okay, he does. But not on Lance, obviously.

“Ho-ho, my friend, do I got some news for you.” She fishes her phone out of her bag, taps the screen rapidly as Keith’s heart speeds up. When she shows it to him, his stomach sinks.

Shit. He’s grinding on Lance, alright. Like, hips slotted together and everything. And the song playing is so fucking obscene, for crying out loud! Do they even play music like that at the parties? Well, they do, but - fuck, it’s even worse when it’s background noise to him and some random guy practically dry humping on the floor! He even barely recognises himself. Sure, he knows he got the moves, and he knows he dresses like that to parties fully intending to look like a snack, but holy shit. He’s dancing with such abandon, he looks so loose. Like he’s having so much fun.

“Oh, no. Who else’s seen this?” What if it’s gone viral? What if this is how Pidge knows? Oh dear, the whole campus must have already seen it. And Keith is sitting here, sipping coffee like his dignity isn’t about to plummet into the hole of slut-shaming.

“Relax, son.” Pidge dismisses him with a wave of her hand, shoving the phone in her pocket “Your scholarship is safe, and so is your reputation as a respectable football captain. No one else has videotaped proof of your drunken debauchery other than me, Hunk and Shiro.”

“ _ Shiro?!” _

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “He’s the one who recorded it. Such a proud daddy, says he’s been hoping  _ ages _ for this to happen.”

“Say what, now?” Keith’s mouth falls agape. What a betrayal! His own brother! “Wait a minute, nothing in the history of the world has suggested Lance and I were anywhere near happening!”

“Oh, bullshit!” Pidge lets out a hearty laugh, apparently getting the shits and giggles from the downfall of his integrity. “Everyone’s seen you two bicker and bump against each other, especially if there’s alcohol involved. I once saw you cut him off on that skateboard of yours and everything!”

“That was one time! And he was blocking the sidewalk, I would have done it to anyone!” 

“Bullshit and you know it. Admit it, there’s been some sexual tension building around you guys.”

Okay. Maybe there was, more than Keith had even realised, now that he thinks about it.

“Never. You’re reading too much into this.” He mumbles, stubbornly. “Can’t believe Shiro recorded that shit… I’ll kill him.”

Things make much more sense now. Shiro acting all smug, Lance’s sudden attention, Keith’s weird pull towards him, the tension between them. And that means Lance  _ was  _ flirting with him this morning! Ha! 

And then there’s the nagging thought in the back of his mind: if his intoxicated self had been so quick to throw himself at Lance, how long had he been harbouring this subconscious attraction to him? And, on top of all that, he’s not even sure he was the one to make the first move. Maybe Lance had come on to him, and he just played along. He doesn’t know which is worse.  

“Hey, what’s the big deal?” Pidge snaps her fingers, pulling him back. “You’re both young and hormonal, there was a lot of sweat and alcohol, and lots of people getting crazy around you. And yeah, Lance has a rep, but you were just rubbing your ass on his dick. Don’t mean you gotta marry him!”

“Whoa, keep it down! Jeez, you make it sound so crude…”

“Sorry. But you get my point! Cut yourself some slack, it’s not that deep. You were both at a party, you were high, shit happens.” Her eyes suddenly turn wicked. “Hey, if you two are frat brothers, does this count as incest?”

“Pidge!”

She burst out in laughter. 

“You’re horrible. For someone who’s not into sex, I’ve never seen anyone talk more innapropriate shit...”

“Eh, probably because I don’t care about it, I get to say all the awkward things everyone’s thinking and watch you hypocrites get all flustered.”

“Alright, you little monster. I gotta get to practice. Weird commentary aside, it was nice talking to you.” Keith gets up and ruffles Pidge’s head one more time.

“You go ahead, I’ll stay a little longer and work on this. I think I finally got the best way to color code this atrocity of an essay. And Keith?” She takes her eyes off from the computer one last time. “Try not to fret too much over this, okay? You’re a college boy. You’re allowed to fuck up and do stupid, regular frat boy stuff every once in a while.”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway.

“Thanks, Pidge. I think I needed that.”

 

Keith shuts the door behind him, leaning against it for a minute and dropping his bag. Football practice mowed his ass so hard, it feels like his bones have crumbled into dust. He’s never doing sports on a bad hangover day like this  _ ever again. _

He quickly puts himself together again, and makes his way inside the house. The promise of his bed upstairs seems so welcoming, he’ll just take a quick shower and pass right out.

But when he reaches the living room, he finds the boys watching TV. Lance is among them. Exerting his muscles pass breaking point had put his mind off the madness of this weekend, but seeing the cause of his troubles brings everything back at once. Resenting the guy for his very existence, Keith ghosts past the room, trying to look small behind his sports bag. He fails.

“Yo, Adam is here!” The warning shout reaches his ears. More miffed by the fact that Lance is talking to him like they’re buds, Keith brushes past the words and just climbs up the stairs.

It’s not until he’s made his way through three flights of stairs, and reached the end of the hallway of the top floor, that he realises what  _ “Adam is here”  _ means.

There’s a sock on the door.

Keith stares at it incredulously. Of course. He couldn’t have the small, simple pleasure of getting clean and jumping into bed after practice. The universe wouldn’t let him have it. He can’t even shower, all his stuff is inside! Fuck, he knew he should have showered in the gym.

Humiliated, he drags himself back down to wait out Shiro’s extracurricular activities. On the bright side, at least he didn’t her any noise, right? That would have been the cherry on top of the most embarrassing day of his life.

Annoyed and reeking of sweat and grass, Keith allows himself a deep breath, and scans the room to see if anyone’s noticed his dejected presence. Thankfully, whatever’s on TV seems to be more interesting than his up and down shenanigans, so nobody pays him any mind. He absolutely does not look for Lance, but it just so happens that he’s somehow exited the room while Keith was gone. Not that he took notice of his absence, duh. Also, there’s a dozen brothers spread on the seats and on the floor, and some of them look just as nasty as his football-playing ass. It’s amazing, the lack of care for personal hygiene displayed by some straight, white, college males. But Hunk is here too, because when is Hunk ever  _ not  _ here? And Keith fondly remembers the french toast from this morning, so he makes his way to an empty couch next to the big guy’s chair, drops his stuff and sags down.

“Hey, man. Thanks for the food you always leave. Pretty nice of you.” He tries to make small talk, realising he’s never showed enough appreciation for that.

Hunk finally seems to notice him, and offers him a beaming smile:

“Hey! Keith, right? My pleasure! Figured you guys could use the sugar after all the alcohol, lots of people I know try to kill off hangovers with instant noodles or something. Not smart, mixing dehydration with all that sodium.” he trails off and goes back to paying attention to the TV.

Damn. Dude talked like it was a no brainer, leaving a family sized portion of baked goods for a bunch of guys he’s barely friends with.

Suddenly, however, a solid figure collapses right beside him, claiming the empty spot. Fuck.

“Hey, there.” Lance greets him. There’s the distant sound of the toilet flush refilling with water. Figures. He was so stupid, taking a seat next to Hunk that probably belonged to Lance before he went to the bathroom.

Keith now realises his body must remember last night a lot more than his mind, since there’s an immediate rise in his body temperature and heart rate. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why does Lance smell so good? He’s never smelled of anything before, when did this happen? And why is Keith so terrified, and so very excited at the same time? Is he really that attracted to this guy?

“Hey.” Keith nods, thanking the gods that his voice came out normal.

The silence lingers between them.

Keith wonders if he should try to make small talk, like he did with Hunk? He feels he should say something. It’ll be awkward if none of them say anything for much longer. Fuck Lance for fucking with his brain.

“So, guess somebody was kicked out of the penthouse, huh?” Lance snickers under his breath. “Tsk, tsk. Didn’t even listen to my friendly advice, I’m offended.”

“Ugh, practice destroyed me. Barely even registered what you said…” he groans, still a little irked at Lance’s attempts at flirting, now that he knows that’s what they really are. But… oh, fuck it. Who’s he kidding? “I mean, you could have been more clear, saved me the trouble”

“Excuse you! I was trying to help a bro out!” Lance fakes a melodramatic gasp. “What was I expected to do? Yell  _ ‘Ay yo, Kogane! Better not go upstairs if you don’t wanna get an eyeful of ass!’  _ for a room full of twelve year olds to hear? ”

“Drama queen…” Keith rolls his eyes, but still chuckles. “Alright, guess it couldn’t be helped. You were only trying to preserve the dignity of our Mr. Frat President.”

“Right? I was keeping it classy. You’re very welcome.” Lance bows, gesturing broadly with his hands, and Keith chuckles again.

They don’t say anything after that.

Every now and then something happens on TV and they offer each other some commentary, but it doesn’t extend much and Keith can’t help but feel somewhat awkward. Something about Lance makes him want to run away as fast as possible. But something about him also makes Keith want to come close and chase that adrenaline.

The evening elapses like that, as he tries to stay in control of the buzzing energy building up inside. Then, one by one, the boys start saying their good nights and going upstairs. Until there’s only him and Lance in the room. Oh, and Hunk. Once again, Keith is hyper aware of the fact of Lance’s presence. Right next to him. They’re not touching, but he can feel the guy’s warmth. And smell his cologne. Damn, it smells really good, how come he hadn’t noticed that before? Lance McClain is sitting right next to him, and Keith feels so impossibly drawn to him, he feels like he’ll die intoxicated.

It’s terrifying.

Every sense in him is screaming for him to go away. Away. Anywhere, as fast as he can. This is dangerous, and he’s playing with fire. But fuck, does Keith  _ love  _ fire.

No, shit,  _ no! _ He’s been over this.

Keith peers around the room once more. There’s some bad, late night show on, and, other than the sound of the TV, the house is eerily quiet. Shitty Sunday evenings. And there’s Hunk, who’s probably hella third-wheeling, watching TV peacefully, unaware of the mental battle Keith’s facing against his raging hormones. And fuck knows what’s going on inside  _ Lance’s  _ mind, because he’s awfully quiet too.

Does he remember last night? Keith certainly doesn’t. What if Lance remembers everything, and thinks that, were it not for Hunk’s presence, it’d be open season for them to get their freak on? Like, on the couch?? Keith never okayed that, Lance should fucking ask him first.

He snaps back into reality when he hears footsteps. Shiro and Adam finally come downstairs, and Adam chimes in with a polite “Hello!”. 

They look like they’ve had sex.

Okay, maybe they don’t. But the messy hair and the linked hands are enough to remind Keith that everyone is getting some, except for him. Plus, they have that glowy bullshit going on, that walking-on-cloud-nine air people get afterwards. Especially when you do it with someone you care about… It’s literally been ages since Keith’s had any action. That can’t be healthy, right? For a boy his age. Maybe he should just download Grindr again. It’s no shame. Certainly doesn’t hurt anyone - not if you use lube - and it’s worked in the past, hasn’t it?

Shiro interrupts his gay reveries and announces he’ll take Adam back to his apartment.

Which will probably be the death of him, because Hunk takes that as his cue to leave and Keith wants to yell at him to sit the fuck down and keep being the third wheel. He doesn’t, obviously, and soon the three of them make their way out, leaving him all alone to fight his overbearing libido on his own.

Keith is alone with Lance.

And he has less than a split second to wonder whether someone’ll make a move - given his lack of impulse control, that someone might very well be him -, before Lance claps his hand around Keith’s thigh. 

And it lingers there.

“Well, mullet, guess it’s time for good children to be in bed. See you tomorrow?” They make eye contact, and Keith would try to make sense of what the hell is going on - if all his blood hadn’t flood out of his brain. He swears he can feel a slight pressure at the tip of Lance’s fingers.

And then, as abruptly as it had landed, Lance’s hand is gone. And so is its owner, sautering off towards the stairs while Keith stays planted on the couch while the heat quickly pools in his lower stomach.

He is too fucking turned on.

Keith stares at his thigh, dumbfounded, and wonders if he imagined the whole thing. Like… One second Lance was right beside him,  _ squeezing his thigh,  _ for fuck’s sake! And then he was gone. Just like that! Gone, and Keith still feels the ghost warmth on the skin below his clothes… Is his brain still on drugs?

“What, disappointed?” Keith snaps his neck around to find the little shit is back, standing perky at the foot of the stairs with a impish grin plastered on his face. Did he see Keith’s ridiculous state…? “Were you expecting me to try anything?”

The nerve…!

Bewildered, Keith opens his mouth to retort, but Lance breaks out in laughter and turns around, this time for good.

“Good night,  _ mami!”  _ He shouts, and Keith has half an impulse to dart after him. But the fucker sleeps on the first floor, and soon he hears the door banging. His boisterous voice is still echoing in Keith’s ears.

He wants to punch that stupid face so bad.

“Asshole…” he huffs, rubbing his thighs together.

Keith is still on the couch. Stays for a while longer, trying to process the madness that just took place. He fails. His mind is swirling so fast, it feels like a fan spinning too fast for you to actually see the blades. So he just… blanks. And tries to ignore the growing pressure in his crotch. Something in the back of his head worries that Shiro might come back to find him sitting here, and then he’ll have to explain himself. But there’s not enough blood in his brain to pay that enough mind. 

So he just sits and stares at the floor. For a long, long time. Maybe he’s finally lost it. Maybe the drugs did more damage to his brain than he accounted for...

Okay. That’s it. Time to get some dignity, Kogane. Get the fuck up.

He gets the fuck up. 

There’s no ignoring the tent in his pants now. In fact, it throbs stubbornly, like it’s trying to prove a point. Keith eyes it furiously, because he’s starting to think his dick has a personal vendetta against him. He has no time for this bullshit.

He has class tomorrow! For fuck’s sake!

Keith finally gets up, arousal mixing with anger and frustration. He stomps the floorboards and stairs forcefully as he goes up, trying to work out some of the tension through the exersion in his leg muscles. He finally reaches his door, and vaguely remembers the activities that were being performed inside earlier. May the room  _ please  _ not smell of sex, or so help him, that’s the last thing he needs.

He walks in to find his prayers have been answered. Shiro is a pretty tidy roommate, bless him. His bed is somehow made! There’s no sign that any sex was had here whatsoever. And the sight of his shitty curtains, plus Keith’s bed as messy as he left it, and his plants, and posters, and books in his little corner of the room, they’re all enough to soothe his anger a bit. Maybe he’s just tired…

Well, however easy on his temper the familiar sight of his bedroom might have been, it sure didn’t make him any less horny. Almost in pain, Keith groans and strides over to his bed, dropping his shit somewhere on the corner. He should shower, really, but at this point he just wants this mess of a weekend to be over as soon as possible. Maybe the urgency of paying attention in class will clear his mind. He topples on top of the mattress, clothed and disgusting and everything.

Hopefully exhaustion will take over and he’ll just black out. If he’s still horny tomorrow… well, at least there’s more dignity in a morning boner than in a desperate midnight wank over some dude sleeping downstairs. This is the one humiliation he’ll spare himself.

And then he waits. And waits. And waits. 

And sleep never comes.

Fuck exhaustion for being so incompetent, you had one job!

He turns around in bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. Maybe sleeping on his stomach just wasn’t the smartest idea. But soon he changes positions again. And again. And soon he’s tossing and turning and his mind is doing that crazy fan thing again, and maybe it’s time he admits insomnia has decided tonight will be one of the nights. Yeah, he can’t sleep.

Resigned, he lays flat on his back and stares at the ceiling. He’s frustrated,  _ he is.  _ But… there’s a tiny portion of him that’s a little excited to be here, in this situation. It’s been so long since he’s allowed himself to fuck up. High school had been such a mess, with all the table kicking and fight picking. Now he was football captain, and still hadn’t declared his major, so he was trying so hard to do things right this time. And everything about Lance screams trouble, but still…

Ah, screw it. He giggles, reluctant, and shakes his head. What’s a man to do? It’s the thrill of the chase. Keith had almost forgotten how good it felt, the adrenaline rush, the want, the frustration, yes, but this building electricity, the anticipation! The promise of payback. Lance knew exactly what he was doing. He had invited Keith to his little game, and he’d be dead before he backed out of a challenge. Touching him like that, then running away, holy shit...

And then he remembers the smell of Lance, what it had done to entice him. The squeeze of his fingers, the naughty gleam in his eyes,  _ the stupid cross on his neck _ . And it does nothing to calm down the building volume in his pants. In fact, his breath hitches, and his stomach knots, and he can’t help but squirm in bed. He really, really needs to sleep. Shouldn’t be here, thrashing against his sheets to the memory of this ridiculously attractive dude who’s suddenly become so tempting. But he’s losing his grip, and if only he could reach down, and get some relief from this need…

No. Okay, c’mon, he’s not thirteen anymore. Keith kicks the sheets away and gets up in surrender, then heads for the bathroom. Fuck if he’s ever needed a cold shower in his life. 

He swears this guy Lance will be the death of him.


	2. In Your Skinny Jeans Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon finding himself in a specially bright mood, Lance starts to question whether his last frat party has any part to play in that. Or rather, a certain enfuriating frat brother of his, the one with the mullet and the questionable fashion sense. It couldn't be, right...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains subtle hints of internalised biphobia. Proceed at your own discreton, please.
> 
> My apologies for taking so long! But alas, here's the next chapter! And as always, I couldn't have done it without the help (and patience) of the excellent FireRinArt. Without her, this chapter might not even exist. All my love, Rin ♡
> 
> I hope this one was worth the wait!!

This is the life.

The sun is shining, clouds are cotton-white, spring blossoms are blooming, birds are chirping, the early fall breeze is blowing, and Lance McClain is the happiest man alive.

Really, what’s there not to love about this little college life of his? First of all, he’s _finally_ getting the hack of balancing out his time table. His earliest lecture starts at 10am, for one! So he gets to have a full night’s sleep, and take his sweet time with his beauty routine, and have a healthy breakfast… He even jogs before classes sometimes! Healthy body, healthy mind, right? Last but not least, Altea Academy is packed with hot babes all over town, and as a member of Lambda Omega Nu like his brothers before him, Lance gets to attend the best parties full of said babes every other weekend. No one to boss him around, no one to answer to, just a free dude making his own choices and absolutely _rocking it._ A man can’t wish for more.

And today is another beautiful day to be Lance, of course. As he makes his way down Greek Row into the center square, his mama’s cross sitting on top of his chest, college life unfurls around him. The smell of coffee from several carts, boys and girls chatting excitedly on their way to class, probably just as happy as him. It’s the start of the semester alright. He strolls down the streets towards the main buildings, finger gunning at acquaintances here and there. There is Tim from Planetary Systems! And there’s Angela from Calculus II! The STEM buildings grow closer now, inside which his best friend Hunk is sure to be saving him a seat and a cup of coffee. Wednesdays are his days for grabbing the coffee, as are Mondays. Lance has Tuesdays and Thursdays, and every other Friday. Everything in his life is clicking into place.

He arrives for class right before it starts, just as Professor Coran ushers him to write his name for attendance and get seated so they can begin. Hunk, of course, is in their usual spot in the back row. And if Lance wasn’t so blissfully oblivious from behind his rose coloured glasses, he would have noticed the smug look on his best friend’s face. But needless to say, Lance was too busy eyeing the paper cup on the other’s hand with his name on it. Literally.

“So… ” Hunk starts in lieu of good morning, as Lance makes grabby hands for what’s certainly a large order of iced mocha with extra whipped cream. He can already taste the delicious bitterness on his tongue, warm and inviting, when… Hunk dodges him. “...You and Keith, huh?”

And then there’s that.

It takes Lance a moment to process what he’s talking about.

Keith Kogane.

The one and only not-completely-and-absolutely-perfect thing in The Life of Lance. And Hunk had to point it the moment he sets foot in class! Rude.

“Yes, dearly beloved best friend, good morning to you too.” Lance snaps, snatching the coffee anyway and settling down next to the traitor. Whatever happiness he was feeling this morning, it’s all gone now.

“Yeah, yeah, good morning…” Hunk brushes Lance off with a wave of his hand, amusement apparent in his tone. “Now, spill the beans. What happened after I left the other night?”

Dude couldn’t have messaged him for details the day after like a normal millennial, right? No, he _had_ to wait until they were face to face and Lance was caught off guard without time to come up with an decent alternative story.

“Huh? Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_Nailed it._

“Aw, c’mon man, don’t hold back on me. Everyone saw the two of you together last Saturday…”

“So? Just dudes being dudes. Bros being bros.”

“Oh, so that’s what you do with all your friends? Far as I know _we_ don’t do that kind of stuff…” His grin only grows, and Lance can _feel_ the innuendo dripping from his voice.

“Ugh, never say that again. Fair enough, uhm...” Lance chuckles nervously, his brain scanning rapidly for safe information to give out. “Okay, so. He was kinda acting like nothing happened. So I just played along, you know? It’s kind of social etiquette after this kind of stuff, right? I mean, I think he had some of that laced up juice Shiro told us about, so there’s also that…”

“You’re giving me nothing here, dude.” Hunk eggs on, lifting his eyebrows.

“I don’t know man, I don’t know! We danced, it was cool, but then he felt sick and Shiro took him upstairs to vomit and go to bed or something… And yeah, he’s crazy attractive and y’know the grumpy act pushes a few buttons for me, but that’s it. What else do you want me to say?” Lance throws his hands up, suddenly defensive. Hunk chuckles and that irritates him even more. “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing…” Hunk trails off, chuckles some more. “You fucking bisexual disaster. He’s the first dude in a little while, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes. It’s been a while since I got the hots for someone of the same gender, thank you for bringing that up. I’ve been on this girls-only spell for a bit, I’m not sure I even know how to flirt with guys anymore...” Lance sulks, feeling the heat flush to his cheeks. This is _not_ the kind of thing he wanted to be thinking about so early in the morning.

“So you do admit you got the hots for him?”

Lance stares blankly for a couple seconds.

Did he just…?

“You absolute monster!”

Hunk bursts out in laughter.

“You never answered my question, though. Or do you expect me to believe you two just sat down and played monopoly after Shiro and I left?” Lance blinks repeatedly in response. “ _Seriously_ , dude? The two of you stayed back in the living room? Completely alone? Less that 24 hours after basically dry humping on the dance floor?!”

Oh. _That_.

“Whoa whoa, no need to get explicit here, buddy! We’re in a  public space.” Lance covers Hunk’s mouth as a pathetic excuse to buy himself  time. He needs to think of an excuse, _now_ . Because… if he’s honest with himself… this is the first time he stops to think about _what he’d done_ after he found himself alone with Keith. It’s almost like… he’s genuinely forgotten about it. It’d been so… sudden. And unprovoked. He doesn’t know what came over him, like someone else took over his body and shredded the archives the next morning. And even though he trusts Hunk with his life, for some reason he can’t bring himself to speak out loud about what happened. Not that it was a big deal or anything, it was just… weird. “But, uh— no, nothing happened. He just yawned, said his goodnights and went upstairs. And so did I.”

Hunk stays quiet for a minute, and Lance scans his expression for any sign that he’s caught on to the bullshit.

“Whatever you say, man.” He caves, or at least it appears so, but as Lance exhales in relief, the little devil delivers a sneak attack in sing-song form: “Can’t deny you’ve been in a especially good mood since last week though…”

“Wha— ? The audacity! Excuse you, I’ll have you know I’m always in a good mood, sir, and the weather’s been especially good lately, so you can’t blame me for being chirpy!” Lance shrieks in attempt to defend himself, but it’s clear in the way his voice cracks that it’s absolute bullshit. To be fair, he doesn’t even remember what he had for lunch last week… Let alone how his spirits were before he did the thing with—  Nah, it can’t be. If anything, Keith Kogane is a _disturbance_ to his good moods, not the _cause_ of them.

Right?

“I was  talking to Pidge about it the other day, and she agrees. At this point you’re just fooling yourself.” Hunk sighs dramatically and stretches, as if finally tiring from the subject. “Oh well, I don’t know why I bother with your delusional self anymore… Speaking of Pidge, you coming over this weekend?”

“Absolutely. Have I ever missed a session, my dude?”

“True. Just checking.”

Lance takes a deep, relieved breath afterwards. Maybe Hunk isn’t completely off but… He’s definitely not in the mood to delve any deeper into the subject, lest his head splits in half. Soon his confusion fades into background noise as Professor Coran’s lecture picks up pace.

Before long, Quantum Mechanics is over, and Hunk and Lance part ways.

Everytime Lance walks into a new classroom, he finds someone to chat with. Then he bumps into an old pal in the hallway with whom he _absolutely must_ catch up with. His busy social life and demanding astronomy curriculum fill out all the space in his mind. Even meal time is taken up by whipping out his phone for an Insta story and replying to texts from Mama.

It’s not until his classes for the day are over, and he finds himself heading alone for Latin club, that Hunk’s queries from this morning start to pick at his brain again.

Keith Kogane, huh? The hothead captain of the football team. Lance doesn’t know much about the guy, except that he’s Shiro’s roommate and apparently close to Pidge. Dude’s kinda closed in on himself - he’s never around the house much, and when he is, he’s mostly inside his room. Lance will be honest, Keith kinda rubbed him off the wrong way. He always had to be the _best_ of everything. Star boy, football captain. Come to think of it, they do share one class. And he’s always raising his hand, always trying to look smart. Always trying to one up Lance, for God’s sake. He’d even hear girls swooning over his ‘mystic aura’ when Keith retreated to a corner right in the middle of a party to _brood_ and act like he’s cool and aloof. Being around the guy usually made Lance want to pick a fight.

That is. Until last Saturday night, of course.

Keith, he’d come to learn, had been really high. And Lance wasn’t much better, so his memory is patchy, but boy, does he remember the things he’d felt.

It had been the way Keith had invaded his drunken personal space, laid claim to Lance’s lap like it was his right. The last person Lance would have expected to do anything of the like. And yet he’d slotted their hips together, brought Lance’s hands to his waist, and Lance had _played along_ . Ran his fingers down the break of his hips, circled the curve of his thighs inside his leggings — oh God. Maybe there _is_ something going on here after all. Lance has the heat pooling inside his jeans to tell him that much.

 _Okay,_ let’s get back on track here.

When he’d woken up the next morning, and Shiro announced he was heading upstairs to wake up the sleeping beauty, he’d felt this surge of appreciation for Keith? This desire to see him again, this… tingle?

Hm.

Okay, so what if Hunk was right? For the sake of hypothesis, _of course_ . What if Lance _is_ in fact giddy because of whatever switch Keith had flipped last friday? It’s not like he isn’t usually in a good mood, he is. It’s just. He’s usually the one doing the chasing. The thrill he’d felt, being approached like that... The moment Keith inverted those dynamics, Lance was a goner.

Man… Up until last weekend Keith was nothing but the annoying kid with the mullet Lance would have loved to run over with his board, possibly a hot annoying kid, yes,  but his infuriating ways had been enough to muffle whatever attractiveness he might have been packing. Somehow, he had come up to Lance, triggered this whole set of instincts, and now he’s seeing the jerk in a  whole new light. The morning after, he couldn’t help but gravitate towards the man. The moment Keith came down the stairs, he had been so _intrigued_ by this new creature. And the mullet on his head that once looked ridiculous, now looked like something else entirely after being seen from behind as Lance buried his nose in the other’s neck. He’d remembered the way Keith’s body felt pressed against him the other night, and before he knew it, he was making small talk and leaning closer and…

Oh fuck. He had flirted with Keith, hadn’t he? Blatantly, really. And, and - he’d liked it! And he’s pretty sure Keith was flirting back! Oh my, how in the everloving name of God did Lance let this slip him by? He’s usually so… _aware._ His moves are so carefully planned, he… Could this be…? And then he went and squeezed the dude’s thigh like it was a normal “goodnight”! Holy mother of God, what was he _thinking?_

“Hey, Lance!”

A chiming voice snaps him back to reality, and he whips around to face it.

There’s a dainty girl in a flowery dress skipping down his way. He immediately takes in the sight of her very pink hair and recognises her as Florona, a lively Colombian that sometimes sits next to him in club. _Alright McClain, pull it together, hot babe alert._

“Hey yourself, bonita.” he smiles, trying to smooth his clothes and ruffle his hair subtly enough before she catches up.

“You heading over to Latin Club?” Flor asks, like she’s done countless times every time they run into each other. She already knows the answer.

“You know it! I like your dress by the way.” Ah, yes. The specific compliment. A classic. “Matches your hair.”

“There you go again...” she chastises, playfully swatting his arm. His skin warms up where hers made contact, and spreads through his body in that familiar tingle of excitement. “Hey, didn’t I see you at Beta Delta Sigma’s last barbecue?”

“Yeah! Hold on, I’ve been going to Beta’s events since freshman year, how come I’ve never seen you there?” He seizes the moment to elbow her, testing the waters.

“Oh, I transferred this year, and to be honest I tend to be a bit party shy.” She giggles melodically, the sound filling Lance’s ears as he beams back at her.

“That explains it. I’d have recognised that pretty smile miles away….” he offers her a sly look, and she giggles even louder.

“Oh my _god,_ listen to yourself!” She swats his arm again, allowing the touch to linger this time.

“What? Say the word and the flattery stops.”

She bites her lips briefly, pondering.

“Touché…” she finally gives in, offering him a knowing grin. Their eyes meet for a second too long and she spins her head to shoot the sidewalk a flustered stare.

Lance realises this is probably as far as they’ll get, but allows himself to savour the pleasant flutter in his chest. Not to be cheesy, but being the subject of attention to a girl like Flor does wonders for him. Not only is she adorable, but conversation comes easily between them. Maybe he’s been crazy to dwell too much on Hunk’s queries. Sure, there’d been something between him and… _that_ dude. The novelty had been enough to cloud his judgment, yeah, but at the end of the day, Lance is just really _good_ with girls. And _damn_ , they come in all shapes and sizes, each one with their particular charm, which makes flirting with them so _easy_ . It’s a pretty decent choreographed dance, isn’t it? Everyone knows what’s expected of them and how to play their cards. Girls will let you know they’re interested, make eyes at you, maybe twirl their hair in one finger like Flor’s doing right now, but wait for you to make the first move. And why shouldn’t they? Nothing’s better than finding yourself on the receiving end of those looks, only to make a move, meet them halfway and find out you _are_ right and those looks _did_ mean “come and get me”. So he could just stick to that for a while longer, it’s been going great so far. Why fix something that ain’t broken, right?

Yeah, maybe he was just delusional after all. Just a bit starstruck. Maybe this back-and-forth with Flor is all he needed to bring him back to his senses.

But as they approach the building entrance, Flor cuts his train of thought again:

“Yeah, listen, I’ll go grab something from the food cart before club starts. Will I see you at Lambda’s next friday night?”

Right. The ‘small get together’ next friday. Which is code for major rager, of course.

“Yeah, sure.” Lance automatically replies, but… “Actually, I, uhm…” He finds himself backtracking. His stomach turns unpleasantly as he realises what’s going on.

_Aaand here we go again._

Lance wants to say he’ll be there with someone else. Goddamnit.

Which is a total lie, because he and Keith haven’t agreed to anything. Hell, they haven’t even seen each other since the whole living room scene, but, when thinking about the next party, his mind immediately went to Keith. Which is a clear sign he’s finally gone insane, because here’s a crazy attractive girl asking him out, and he finds himself ditching all sensible rules of no-strings-attachment by acting like a molly-induced dance at a party suddenly means Keith has _any_ role to play in his life.

“Yes?” Flor is still waiting for an answer.

Okay. Fine. _Fine_. He’ll cave!

Lance really wants to see Keith again. There it is.

That’s what he does. Someone catches his fancy, he goes after them. A spark of interest that starts small, but starts growing and soon it can turn into a full blown obsession. Like it or not, Keith rose something inside of Lance. If anything, he’s curious. Curious enough to want a do-over, apparently. He’s been through this enough times to know that… Well, that once the snowball gets going there’s no stopping theprocess. So what the hell, he might as well give in.

“Erm, I’ll… probably be there with a friend so...” The unspoken words linger between them. He’s almost ready to regret them, but he’s made up his mind. “That cool?”

Flor looks the slightest bit disappointed, and Lance is ready to start panicking and coming up with excuses. But then she tucks her hair behind her ear and beams at him once more:

“Oh, sure. Maybe next time I’ll steal you from them!” She giggles and makes a turn for the snack cart on the sidewalk, followed by a curtain of pink flailing behind her. He truly hopes her tone was sincere and he didn’t offend her somehow...

Lance exhales as he watches her go, letting the bittersweet truth sink in: He turned Flor down.

There must be something _really_ wrong with him, letting a girl like that walk without offering promise of a good time. One week ago, he would have gotten wound up. Replied with a “Maybe I’ll see _you_ first”, let it linger in the air... Only to crown it with a wink, then watch her giggle and walk away. Now this… this stranger has taken over his body. Trashing the manual and going freestyle. And the worst part? He can’t even bring himself to mull it over for too long. Because soon a greater realisation strikes him.

“Keith Kogane, huh?” he tastes the name on his tongue. And the worst part? He _likes_ it.

Oh man, he’s really doing this, isn’t he? Going after this… this foreign, unexpected, _odd…_ well, whatever this feeling is. He’ll put the moves on Keith Kogane. And he better go all out too. Maybe Keith will be dancing, surrounded by people, and Lance will worm his way through the crowd, watching the way he moves, before slowly sliding in and whispering in his ear. He’ll use his best line. Then Keith will turn around, caught by surprise, but once he realises it’s Lance, they’ll pick up where they left the other night and…

Lance makes the rest of the way on his own, engrossed in his own scheming.

And he can’t bring himself to pay attention to a single word they say at the meeting.

 

The rest of the week goes by painstakingly slow.

And Lance has been strangely cheerful ever since… ever since his chat with Flor.

Exhibit A: he hasn’t picked a single fight with Lotor during practice. Not even when he took a blatantly fake dive to win a penalty. _As well,_ he’s been spontaneously doing the dishes around the house, even when it’s not his turn. Who knows, maybe even the fact that his skin cleared up has something to do with that. Not that he had any blemishes before! His skin is _flawless._ But there’s always room for improvement, right?

So yeah, okay. Maybe this streak of good spirits has something to do with the fact that he’s finally acknowledged his… newfound interest in Keith. Who still holds the spot for an insufferable attitude and a hideous mullet, may the records state. _But…_ There’s maybe, a slight, unlikely chance that… Well, that Lance has been scanning the house’s hallways for a glimpse of said hideous mullet. He even arrived early for Sociology class, which everyone knows is just an easy A in gen ed. The fact that it’s his shared class with Keith is just mere coincidence. Nothing too stalkery, you know? Just — if they _happened_ to run into each other and maybe exchange some small talk before he goes all in at the party, that wouldn’t be terrible.

Lance hasn’t seen him all week though. The punk must have cut class.

Not that he’s reading too much into this. Dude obviously has his own schedule anyways. Not like he’s _avoidin_ g Lance or anything. Lance just probably hadn’t noticed how little their paths cross, because he wasn’t… looking.

That’s why he’s positively optimistic when Friday night finally arrives! He’s making his move tonight, and nothing can ruin this for him. Maybe it’s better that they haven’t seen each other, it’d make their reunion more dramatic and stuff.

Lance strides in large steps around the room, before halting in front of the mirror to give his milimetrically disarrayed hair one more ruffle. He whips out a last minute extra whiff of cologne, because _yeah,_ he’s even wearing cologne. The plaid shirt Raquel gave him, too. His sister may be a heinous witch, but there’s something to be said about the shirt. Every single time he’s worn it, it brought him good luck. Which only attests to the fact that she _is_ a witch, but that’s a topic for a different time. So he figures he could use the mojo tonight as well. His dignity has been thrown out the window long time ago, no point pretending he has any left - so he might as well dress nice.

The thought, of course, does nothing to ease the jitters. He looks at the man in the mirror. Just the same as he would any other weekend night. There’s no reason to fret.

“Yeah chief, you’re looking good!” the reflection finger guns at him, ever so reassuringly.

The party sounds are starting to filter through the floorboards. Everyone knows it’s not cool to arrive early at a party. Even if it’s his own frat, and he’s usually first in line for the keg. Even if he doesn’t usually mind arriving a little early to make sure the playlist is on point, instead of this beatless rap bullshit someone must have let the freshmen play! Ugh, who’s he kidding? Parties are his natural habitat. It’s not like him to fuck around like this. He can already feel the pull in his stomach towards the source of noise.

But hell with it! Tonight is different.

He’s a man on a mission. And he doesn’t want to run into Keith before the alcohol has a chance to work its disinhibiting magic, and risk having to make silly chit-chat while they’re still sober. So he stalls some more. Paces around some more. Then he sags into bed, going through the usual Facebook, Instagram, Twitter routine. It’s not until Hunk texts him ‘dude, where ARE you??’ that he realises he might have overplayed it.

Fuck, what a rookie move! His presence is _expected_ at Lambda parties. He can’t be drawing attention to his antics like that without raising suspicion. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

By the time Lance bolts out of his room, the party surge is already flooding the common areas. Even the stairs are starting to crowd with traffic. He halts, before anyone notices his eagerness. _Alright McClain, get it together. There’s a man to woo tonight._ So he smoothes down his shirt, adjusts the collar, touches the cross for good measure.

And strolls down the stairs.

Music fills his ears, something with a beat this time, thank God. He inhales the stuffy air of sweat and alcohol. Dim lights and muffled voices. Someone even yells “Yo Lance, what’s good?” across the room, to which he shouts back “What’s up, my man?”. Now, this is what he calls home.

For a moment, all else leaves his mind as he’s engulfed by this familiar, thrilling sense of first walking into a frat party. It’s like crossing over to a different world. Damn, he even remembers the first ever college party he attended. Nothing quite like it, being an overdressed freshman and stumbling before every step. Now he’s so at ease, drifting through the crowd like it’s second nature...

He could have been swept in nostalgia, much like he’s swept by the ocean of people. But the moment he sets foot on the living room, he spots none other than the president himself, Takashi Shirogane.

And the butterflies immediately swarm his stomach.

Shiro and Keith are notoriously cozy. So he paddles through people awkwardly, on his way to make the first step towards tonight’s goal. Is it earlier than he was planning?

“Night boss!” Lance shouts out, trying his best to sound nonchalant, to which Shiro makes an abrupt turn.

“Lance! My man. My dude. My soccer shooter.” Okay. So he’s talking to creepily affectionate Shiro. Noted. “I got people wondering where you’ve been, dude.”

“You do?” Lance jumps, blinking fast. He is _not_ used to this level of praise from Shiro. But the man can’t know what. “Oh. Yeah, of course you do.”

“Apparently you’re growing a reputation around some freshmen. Make sure to send them your love at some point.” His first instinct is to ask whether it’s a freshmen or fresh _women_ situation, but that’s for another night. He also notices the copper liquid in the red cup Shiro’s holding, so that explains a thing or two.

“I gotta ask. How many of these have you had?”

“Hm. ‘Tis the fifth, I think?

“Dang, son! President Shiro’s legendary tolerance, ladies and gentlemen!” Lance announces to no one in particular, but a few passersby make ‘whoo’ sounds in applause.

“Damn right! I might be getting old, but I still hold the keg stand record.” They share a hearty laugh, which Lance figures as his cue.

“So, listen… That guy Keith.” He probes. Shiro lifts his eyebrows.  “You guys are bros, right?” Right, like he doesn’t know. Maybe his speech skills could use a drink too.

“Yeah, you could say that…” his chuckling encourages Lance to go on.

“Cool, cool, cool. You wouldn’t happen to have seen him around, would you?” There. It’s out in the open, and the butterflies are downright raging inside his stomach now.

Shiro shoots him a knowing look.

Fuck. His position been compromised. Shiro knows he’s up to something. Abort, abort!

“Yeah, he’s around here somewhere. Probably off to some corner sipping his vodka...” Shiro finally breaks the dramatic pause. He laughs openly, and Lance can’t help but think of an old mama hen. If he’s noticed Lance’s odd behaviour, he doesn’t say anything. Drunk or not, maybe you can always count on Shiro to be a classy guy!

So Lance decides not to push his luck.

“Thanks, man. I won’t keep you any longer!”

“And you! Don’t get too crazy, I already got my hands full with the freshmen… Every year is the same, I end up holding heads over the toilet while they throw up…”

“You got it, boss!”

That’s when he turns around to leave, but... He hasn’t actively _seen_ Shiro follow suit and go his own way. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, a busy guy like Shiro wouldn’t stick around to… Nah, he’s just paranoid. So he figures it’s time he hits the kitchen for that drink. You know, grab a beer, keep his cool. In any case, can’t have Shiro thinking he’ll go run to find Keith or anything. While the party has barely started, no less! So booze now, Keith later. All good.

The rum burns down his throat.

He’s surprised there’s even rum tonight, usually the most ambitious he can get with college alcohol is whiskey. So he downs one shot, and another. Gotta make the most of it, before the nasty freshmen with their fancy tastebuds hog it all.

Lance is in the middle of pouring some rum into a cup of coke when he sees it. The mullet. No, not the mullet…

The ponytail!

His heart hammers against his ribcage, like it’s ready to burst. Oh, wow.

He barely has time to register the sight, and then Keith is spinning around, soft smile playing on his lips. It’s like he’s moving in slow motion. Good Lord, he looks so _good._ Even better than Lance remembers. Their eyes meet, and Lance smiles as he prepares to cross the growing wall of bodies between then. But then Keith’s eyes widen. And Lance barely has time to register before—

Keith dips and ducks, swallowed by the crowd.

And then the penny drops.

Keith is gone.

Lance _saw_ him just a moment ago, and now he’s gone! It’s like he wasn’t even there...! He disappeared the second he saw Lance! What the actual _fuck?_

Stunned, Lance whips his head around to make sure no one saw him make a fool of himself like that. People seem to be minding their own business. Still, it feels like all eyes are on him as something nasty blooms inside him, this… this sinking feeling in his stomach, this… _confusion._

He shakes his head furiously, turning his attention back to the forsaken rum and coke. He doesn’t think, he chugs it all the way down. Then he gets a second one. Then a third. It’s only on the fourth that he takes a sip and walks away from the kitchen and its offending fluorescent lights, melding back into the dark, thick atmosphere of the living room while his brain restarts.

Keith Kogane.

What a jerk!

Fuckin Keith Kogane, walking up to him like it was none of his business, grinding on Lance like he was a fucking stripper pole, wearing that stupid choker and that stupid _, attractive_ ponytail! Who the fuck does he think he is? Who cares if he was high as a kite. Doesn’t give him the right… to...

He marches through the crowd, going nowhere in particular. The connection between his legs and his brain start to become weaker and weaker. Weaker… Lance is a weak motherfucker. Nah, man. Can’t be... Keith saw someone else…

His limbs are made of water now.

And the music washes through the water, pretty neon lights popping here and there. Lance marches… and he marches. And he swims. The whole world is pulsating to the quick, frantic vibes of the beat now. And Lance is spinning...

Hunk. He needs to find Hunk. Hunk will tell him everything’s okay. It was just a bad misunderstanding.

His ass buzzes!

… No, it’s his phone. Inside his ass. Scratch that, inside his pocket! That’s right, his pocket.

 _“Seriously, where r u?_   
_R u seriously gonna leave me hanging? >:(“ _

It’s Hunk! Lance types.

_“Heeeere!!!! WHEre a re u?????”_

He must have pressed send, because soon a text follows.

_Dance floor. Get your ass here NOW!!!_

Dance floor? They don’t even _own_ a dance floor. They owned one before Matt flooded the basement and...

Oh, wait.

He pushes past the sweaty bodies. He knows where Hunk is! The living room appears to have grown a lot larger now, because it takes him a few spins to find his way. But he knows where he’s going. If only people would stand fucking still…!

He finds it. Furniture pushed against the walls, improvised DJ booth on the center: the dance floor! Or… regular floor. Where people are dancing on. That’s it, it’s not any different from a regular floor, other than the square frame of couches marking a space where a bunch of wasted teens grind and rock against each other to the heavy beat. And in the middle of them, dancing without a care in the world…

“Hunk!”

“Lance, ma boy! Where have you been?” Hunk’s arms shoot wide open the minute he sees Lance. Lance leaps right into them. He’s warm...

His drunken brain is a genius, coming to Hunk was the best thing he could to. One hug from this big man is enough to erase all problems.

“Listen, my buddy, my pal… You don’t happen to have some of those famous brownies of yours lying around, do ya?” Lance shouts through the music once Hunk lets go.

“Nah man, my bad.” Hunk ruffles his hair, as his body begins to sway to the music once more. “Promise next week I’ll have a special batch just for you!”

“You know how to make a man feel loved!” Lance soon joins in, picking up pace easily. Music is his home too. That’s when an idea starts to form in his brain...

“Are we doing the thing tonight?” _The thing!_ Has Lance mentioned he loves Hunk?

“I was thinking the same! But we can’t with this white boy music...”

“Is Matt DJing tonight?”

“This crap? Hell naw. He’s banned from DJ duty after flooding the basement.” Lance brushes it off with a swat of his hand. White boy or not, even Matt has a better taste than… this. “I’m gonna talk to whatever heathen’s running this shit show, and then we’ll break this place down.”

Lance makes his way to the DJ. Or rather… the guy with the headphones and the iPod behind the speakers. He’s seen him around before… James Something.

“Yo man, ‘was good?” Lance greets, and the does nothing to mask the unimpressed look.

“What can I do for you tonight?” It’s clear in his tone he’d like for Lance to be gone soon. Whatever, everyone’s a hater these days...

“You... got any J Balvin?” Of course he has J Balvin. Everyone’s got J Balvin.

“I’ll see what I can do.” His eyes drop to the iPod in his hand, and Lance realises the exchange is over.

Lance takes a bow and starts to make his way back to Hunk, probably to tell him maybe tonight won’t do. But then… His hips recognize the song before he does. The arrangement, the drums, the voice… He’s danced to this one a million times.

“Thanks man, owe you one!” He shouts, two rows of people away. Jason probably never heard him… But the thrill of the beat is already coursing through his veins.

He pretty much leaps all the way back to Hunk. The fact that it’s this song and no other must be a sign...

“Why am I not surprised?” Hunk clamors as soon as Lance is within hearing distance. He’s too happy to care.

“Shut up and dance with me!”

“Bring it, rookie!”

Lance surrenders to the beat.

He feels the powerful rhythm flowing through his body, making his body hotter and hotter, his mind clearer... his feet start moving instinctively. The familiar drums pulse to the beat of Lance’s heart. His moves grow bolder. Rolling his hips, punching the air, he’s one with the music. Hunk follows in, their practiced dynamics flowing like energy between them. To every step, every open space Lance leaves, Hunk is there to meet him. Back and forth, dancing together like they’re one. And when Lance shouts along, gleeful smile plastered on his face...

“Un, dos, tres—”

“Leggo!” Hunk shouts back.

Chest heaving, he keeps moving, music pushing him forward when he should have tired long ago. He doesn’t know how long he’s been dancing, but he _knows_ he’ll be sore tomorrow. His moves are almost second-nature now. Lance is a good dancer and he makes sure to show it. A clearance has opened up around them, and his eyes lock with Hunk’s. It’s time.

Lance jogs around, riling up the crowd around them as they make space. When the circle is broad enough, Hunk takes a couple steps back, gathering impulse… then runs in a straight line, and does the most _insane_ backflip! Lance follows right after. He makes a run for it, and next thing he knows, the ground’s disappeared from under his feet. The entire world spins around as he leans on his hands. His legs hang in the air, kicking back and forth to the rhythm, and...

He hits the ground, just as the song plays its final tune.

Pandemonium

The crowd shouts. Girls woo all around them. Dudes whistle. Sweat drips down Lance’s face copiously, and he’s finally feeling the burn in his biceps from the daring handstand. But he feels _fantastic._ Lance McClain, ladies and gentlemen!

“You were amazing!”

He turns around to find the owner of the voice, and discovers it wasn’t directed at him. A dark skinned lady with too many bracelets and two puffy buns is wrapping her arms around Hunk, even though he’s disgusting with sweat too. Lance thinks her name is...

“Shay! Oh my god, were you _watching?”_ Hunk blurts out, mortified.

Wait a minute, Hunk loves dancing. He’s never been shy about… wait a minute.

“Yeah! You guys are really good...” She smiles sheepishly, and something drops inside Lance’s stomach. He can’t put his finger on it, but he knows he’s heard Hunk mention her before.

The next song is already starting, something still dancy enough. He and Hunk should...

“Wanna join us?”

Now wait a fucking minute! Who the fuck said Hunk was allowed to turn their dynamic duo into a dynamic trio? Hell no!

“Hell yeah!”

Lance watches incredulously as Hunk takes her hand and spins her to bring her closer. Oh God.

He finally realises where he’s heard Shay’s name before.

_The one Hunk has a big, fat crush on. Oh my fucking God._

The adrenaline washes out of Lance’s body almost immediately, leaving a bitter taste in its wake.

Then, a possessive urge begins to boil inside his guts. He’s _..._  kind of angry at Shay! He doesn’t want to be, because even if Hunk doesn’t talk much about it, Lance knows his friend is head over heels for this girl, and he deserves to be with the chick he likes! But tonight he needed his best friend or… Or else he might think about that thing he doesn’t wanna think about…! He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, he knows it, but the truth of the matter is, Hunk belongs to Lance! And Shay is clearly third wheeling her way into their wonderful, beautiful friendship _—_

Ah, fuck. Who’s he kidding? If there’s a third wheel here, that’s obviously Lance. That much is clear, as Hunk and Shay’s bodies grow closer, coy and well-behaved enough to let on how much they fucking like each other, tip toeing around each other. They probably wanna take it slow and _get to know each other_ and all kinds of disgusting stuff. Ugh. Can’t they just fuck and regret it the next morning like normal people?

“Hey guys. Yeah, um… I’m starting to sober up.” Lance lies through his teeth, and the lovebirds look at him like they’re seeing him for the first time in life. “I’ll head to the kitchen, do you guys want anything?”

Please say no, please say no.

“Nah, we’re cool.” _Thank god._

“Aight. Be right back.”

He turns in the opposite direction, then slips past a dirty dancing couple. Right. As if he needs any reminder _everyone_ ’ _s_ getting some tonight. Except for him.

He has no intention of going to the kitchen.

So he allows his legs to carry him wherever they like. Music around him transitions into a remix of some flat-toned song. At least this one has a nice bass line. The singer’s voice sounds almost apathetic. Lance likes it. It conducts him through the party herd, limbs moving mechanically as he goes nowhere in particular. He just knows he needs some space from all the… couples and horny idiots around him. He’s not a horny idiot...

Lance bobs his head to the rhythm, eyes fluttering closed. It’s… almost pleasant. Being lulled by the dull, low pitched sounds resonating around him. It numbs his mind. Numbs his body… He’s floating in space. He’s a free man. None of this Keith bullshit.

Keith bullshit.

Keith who’d come after him that night. Night much like this one, when Lance was a drop of water floating around in the music... And made his body all warm. With the inviting planes of his body and the exposed skin of his back… Lance didn’t even get a chance to get a glimpse at tonight’s outfit before he did the thing. Ran away from Lance.Like the sight of him was disturbing. Inviting himself into Lance’s lap one night, then avoiding him all together the next. He hasn’t even seen the guy all night after the unhappy kitchen… whatever that was. Encounter? Fiasco? Fiasco.

Did he read this whole thing wrong?

Yeah, he’s been lusting after Keith. And his stomach turns whenever Hunk brings him up. And he’s probably been replaying the other night’s scene in his mind a little more than he should. Maybe he just… read too much into the situation. Misread the whole thing, thought Keith’s advances on him meant he was _obviously_ down for more. Hell, even the whole “ _advances”_ thing might have been a stretch. Who knows what the fuck when through his brain when it was swimming in drugs...

Lance opens his eyes, to find he’s strayed away from the conglomeration of sweat and hormones. He’s near the hallway entrance, where there’s more air to breathe. Fewer people too, except for a small group of girls gathering at the back of the stairs. Huh, funny thing girls. Always walking around in flocks and shit. The blonde one with the bold eyeshadow makes eyes at Lance. He tries to make eyes back, and the contact extends to the point of being awkward. But none of them move. His body doesn’t want to go...? But apparently her friends decide it’s time to go, and she offers him an apologetic stare before following in and disappearing up the stairs.

Something’s definitely wrong with him tonight.

He drags his feet further away from the party turmoil, entering the hallway. Music’s quieter here. Suddenly this powerful weight overcomes him, like he’s run half a marathon. He stumbles backward, and his back hits something hard. His skull thuds against the wall.

Ugh.

He’d kill for some weed right now. There’s usually a room at the end of the hallway where the stoner kids hang since Matt flooded the friggin’ basement. Maybe if he slips and blend in, he could take a couple puffs and excuse himself politely. Take his mind off the Keith business.

Soon as he opens the door, he realises there’s no one here tonight.

It’s almost poetic, the moonlight seeping through the open window and casting and eerie glow around the room. The bookshelves, the desk, the couch...

Keith is sitting on the couch.

He spins a half-filled vodka glass in his hand. Where the hell he found a glass is beyond Lance, but... there’s something almost classy in the picture. He hasn’t noticed Lance yet, or just chose to ignore him, content in staring out the window, legs crossed elegantly. In different circumstances, Lance would have hated him for trying to act mysterious, sneaking off to a lonely room and drinking vodka in the dark like a wannabe edgy boy. Tonight, he’s not so sure…

Keith is quite beautiful. How come he’d never noticed before…? The graceful grip of his gloved hands, his silken hair, the way his piercings wrap around his earshell. This is the closest they’ve gotten since they last met, and Lance can’t help but grow nervous. Keith exerts a powerful pull on him, makes him question whether he should flee before he’s fully trapped. He’s not strong enough for that.

Lance clears his throat.

Keith turns around slowly, as if he’s known about his presence the whole time. He glances over Lance placidly, head to toe. His cheeks grow hot, and soon it spreads to his whole body, but he stares back, playing into the game of chicken.

But then Keith smirks, the most subtle of smirks.

“Were you looking for me?” He teases, no bite in his tone. Great, now Lance looks like a stalker, and Keith’s having fun at his expense.

“What? No!” He shrieks, ‘cause that’s totally the most non-stalkery line his useless brain is able to produce. “Why’d you say that?”

Oh my _God_ , he needs to shut up. Like, right now.

“Just… Didn’t expect to see you here.” Keith closes his eyes, savoring the supposed irony.

“In the weed room?” Lance snorts. Keith opens his eyes again, confusion stamped on his face.

“Didn’t realise this was the weed room.” He hums, as if that closes the case. His slurred speech tells Lance he’s shitfaced too.

Unsure what to do next, Lance looks down at his hands. He’s been fidgeting. He supposes it’s an improvement, Keith didn’t stare at him like his head just grew horns… Y’know, like _last time._

In fact, he continues to stare off into the distance.

So Lance walks further into the room, trying to feign innocence as he sits carefully on the spot next to Keith, who continues to sit very still. Lance exhales, and gathers his next words...

That’s when Keith extends his leg outward, brushing against Lance’s hand on the couch. It’s an accident, from the way his doe-like eyes meet Lance’s, and he sustains the eye contact; For a moment, neither of them react.

Lance’s hand moves of its own accord.

It slides up the other’s thigh, fingers brushing lightly on their way. His heart picks up pace, and Keith continues to stare at him with very round eyes. Lance reaches the top of his leg, only to make its way back down. Keith presses his lips together, expectantly. Lance’s breath grow shallow.

He doesn’t have a plan. He never thought he’d get this far.

Then Keith’s brow furrows and he turns his head sideways. He’s back to examining Lance now, eyes piercing him brazenly, before… before his hand moves. It feels like he’ll raise it to Lance’s face. He braces himself—

Keith hoops one finger around the fine chain in his neck instead.

Lance’s heart thumps.

He swallows dryly as Keith lowers his gaze to inspect the cross dangling at the end. Keith is close. Too close. Lance can breathe in his sweet smell now.

“You’re always wearing this. Do you ever take it off?” He finally speaks, softly, under his breath. Barely audible.

“No.” And Lance’s voice comes out critically hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in a million years. His lips are dry.

“Not even to shower?”

“No.” He repeats, firmer this time.

Keith’s eyes travel through Lance’s features now, musing the answer. Something about the magnetic pull of his scrutiny, or maybe it’s the fact that they’re discussing his showering habits, makes Lance’s face burn shamefully. His lap is burning too, but he can’t pay attention to that or he might lose it.

He licks his lips. And Keith’s gaze drops to them. Lance follows suit.

Keith’s lips.  

Keith’s full, reddish lips. He wonders what it’d be like to kiss them... Heart beating furiously inside his chest now, Lance leans an inch forward. Keith doesn’t move. If anything, he breathes out… earnestly? If only Lance could… He bet Keith would…

Lance slowly reaches for the back of Keith’s neck, ready to pull it back any second now. Keith leans in too.

Their lips finally touch, and for a moment Lance forgets how to breathe. They fit so well together, Keith’s mouth softer than Lance could have ever imagined. Tentatively tasting Lance, slowly claiming his lips. His head spins as he sinks deeper into the kiss, and all he can feel is Keith. Keith’s warmth, Keith’s hands reaching for the back of his neck, Keith’s slender, exposed waist as Lance tentatively trails it down…

Lance’s touch must do something for him, as Keith’s lips grow urgent... Faster and faster. He’s rough and demanding, and kisses Lance so avidly he loses himself between pain and pleasure. Keith’s impatient rhythm lights up this— this _hunger_ in him. So he finds himself pushing forward, tangling his hands into Keith’s hair, driving him into the couch. Keith doesn’t yield. He presses forward, licking into Lance’s mouth, running his hands down his spine— Lance wants more, so much more. He presses Keith’s sides, eager fingers running up to cup his jaw. His other hands lingers on Keith’s throat, when… he lets out a soft whimper.

Oh. Someone has a sweet spot.

He presses one last peck on Keith’s swollen lips, before pulling off briefly. Keith shoots him an indignant look. Everything inside Lance twists.

Then Lance’s mouth is on his neck, his delicious, inviting neck. He trails down with kisses, mouthing at his throat and tasting the salt in his skin. The moans he draws from Keith, they’ll be the ruin of him. Lance will gladly drown if he gets to taste him, smell him, hear these _sounds_ a little longer. He needs so much more, needs to see what other noises he can extract from those pretty little lips...

So he kisses Keith again. Softly, slowly this time, building a rhythm as his fingers travel down his throat. Then down at his collarbones, innocently threatening to enter the hem of his top. Keith shudders under his touch, which only encourages his next move...

Giggles invade his ears.

“Que carajo-?” Lance curses. Horrible, offensive girly giggles that die out as soon as the couple of savages that dared interrupt them realise they’re not alone.

“Whoops, looks like this one is taken already!” the female’s sickening tone announces.

It’s too late though.

Keith has already fled the room. And Lance can only find it in himself to glare at the girl and spit:

“No shit, Sherlock.”

 

By the time Lance has bitched to the couple that they can have the fucking room and stormed off, his bubble of horny is already burst. Keith is nowhere to be seen. Of course he’s nowhere to be seen. Who the fuck can tell what goes on inside Keith motherfucking Kogane’s head?

Okay. He needs to calm down. He needs to…

Good _God_.

Maybe it’s his fault for not even shutting the door behind him. Maybe it’s Keith’s fucking fault for picking his interest and making him do foolish things and fucking _kiss_ him! If he was just gonna haul ass, why bother charming Lance in the first place?

_Are you sure? You’re the one doing all the work. Maybe you’re pushing him._

The voice in his head is right.

Lance had gone after him, palmed his leg the other night, grabbed his neck, kissed him first too…

Keith had played along, at best.

Who knows, maybe Lance just makes him uncomfortable and he’d hidden in an empty room precisely to avoid his forwardness.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s too much. Old voices echo in his mind, the ones that said he’s too much, too intense, too dramatic... Is he being too much? Keith had done nothing but kiss him back, yet the moment someone barged into the room, he took the opportunity to flee. If he was interested, for sure he would have joined Lance on scolding their rudeness and resuming their activities… right?

But the _noises_ he was making! Those aren’t the sounds of someone who’s looking for an opening to leave. Keith has kissed him _back,_ he—

He collides with a solid mass.

Lance has somehow wound up on the dance floor again.

“Lance! Dude, please stop disappearing.”

The solid mass speaks in Hunk’s voice, a lot more garbled than when Lance first left him. Lance looks up to him sheepishly, deeply relieved to have a best friend to fall back on tonight. He’s ready to leap for a hug again, but…

He remembers why he left.

“Where’s Shay?” Lance looks around him, suspicious. Hunk laughs apologetically.

“Huh, she’s gone home man. ‘Parently her social battery ran out…” He mumbles, silly smile on his face. “What do you think of her?”

 _I think she’s a best-friend stealin_ g tonta, _that’s what._

“She seems lovely, pal!” Lance forces out instead.

“Who, me? Why, thank you!” A small figure creeps up behind him, holding two plastic cups.

“Jesus Maria y Jose!” Lance yelps, as the vision in denim and a messy bun bumps shoulders with Hunk and slips him the cup.

“Pidge! Look who’s decided to show up!” Hunk gestures enthusiastically to Lance, before downing the cup in one big gulp.

“ _Pidge?_ The fuck you doing at a Lambda party?” How long has she been here? More importantly, how long was he _gone?_

“Let’s just say I had a hunch something worth seeing might happen tonight…” Pidge laughs cynically. Lance knows better than to ask… “C’mon pretty boy, I’m already here! Might as well dance.”

Pidge pulls him by the collar, as they close in on a little circle of three. She and Hunk start moving enthusiastically, careless, silly moves to the upbeat music. Oh, what the hell! Lance might as well dance his troubles off.

And for a while he does.

That’s before he sees a flare of bright pink hair, flailing behind Pidge. Or he thinks he does…? It _could_ just be his imagination, at this point it probably is. Doesn’t matter. Even if it is Flor, Lance is somehow too mentally exhausted to go after her, start the whole flirting rap again. It is _not_ because he wishes he’d seen black hair instead.

Then something happens. Something that hasn’t happened in a long time.

That weird, old feeling. The… emptiness in his chest, that washes cold through him and makes him suddenly resent being surrounded by all these people. Unprompted and foreign, triggered by the smallest things, this useless feeling. It usually is... His body is moving easily to the music, but it feels like his mind has sunken back on itself and toned out all sound and movement around him.

“You okay?” Hunk’s warm tone suddenly cuts through the thick fog. Bless him.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” _Why wouldn’t he?_

“You’re staring off.”

“Yeah, I…” He’s ready to make an excuse, he is. Instead, he blurts out: “Am I too much?”

“No! Why would you say that?”

“Keith ran away...”His dejected tone makes him instantly pity himself. He wants to take it back, but he now he’s caught Pidge’s attention too. She looks at him sympathetically, which only makes it worse.

“Gonna have to be more specific there, buddy.” Hunk encourages him.

“Keith and I kissed.” Pidge and Hunk share a _look_. “Then he ran away.”

“Keith’s reasons are… weird.” Pidge chimes in, scrunghing her face. “It’s not always obvious why he does the shit he does.”

Her explanation doesn’t make it any better, but Lance isn’t sure he wants to probe anymore... Yup. He’s done with the subject.

“Guys, I think I need another drink.” He announces. Pidge and Hunk scan his expression for a second, before shrugging it off. Hunk clasps him around the shoulder, and Pidge extends him a little punch in the arm.

“Here, keep my drink. I’ll get a new one.” Her voice echoes in his ear, and then she’s gone.

Lance looks into the red cup planted in his hand, unknown amber liquid inside. The weird emptiness in him has already receded a little, he supposes filling it up with booze is as good as anything.

So he does.

 

He couldn’t tell how many hours had passed since.

At some point, Pidge had gone home, and Hunk must have followed not long after. So the drinks just stopped coming, and now there’s a lot more air around him, and Lance’s head is starting to clear.

Lance realises the party is dying off.

And it finally dawns on him that he’s been drinking and turning people down, just coasting through this party after Keith evadeded him. Fuck, does this guy really have him caught by the cojones that he spent an entire party _kind of_ looking for him, then _kind of_ trying not to look for him, and completely forsaking any other possible hookups in the meantime? There had been no shortage of individuals with inviting lips where he could have drown his sorrows. There had even been a couple males attractive enough to catch his eye, if that’s what his tastes were leaning towards these days. So why...

Ah, fuck it. This isn’t the first party fiasco he’s experienced in this life. In fact, he’s walked home alone plenty of times back in high school. Back when his scrawny, gangly self wasn’t exactly a catch. College life may have put those days behind him, now that he’s had a chance to experiment with his smiling and smooth-talking, and let’s not pretend being vice-captain of the soccer team hasn’t helped with the ladies, but it’s still a bitter memory nevertheless…

And he’ knows his drunken brain will start to pick at itself if he doesn’t find something else to distract it. Fast. There’s probably nothing left in the kitchen. So when he spots the a couple of people heading for the door... He follows them.

He supposes the veranda is as good a place as any to end up after a lousy party. A glance at his wrist watch tells him it’s already late into the night, Keith probably excused himself at some point and must be fast asleep by now. He hates that his mind still went there, but at this point it’s maybe just best to admit defeat and pick up what’s left of his pride. Maybe the fresh air will shake away this mist of bad nostalgia, anyway. Maybe it’ll offer him some forgiveness for playing a fool and chasing after someone who’s clearly not interested.

So he trots, disgruntled, away from the cacophony of music and voices and bright strobing lights. The cold breeze of the night brushes pleasantly against his face, and he takes a moment to inhale deeply while his eyes adjust to the newfound darkness outside.

Then Lance lifts his head. And that’s when he sees him.

Leaning against the railing, completely oblivious to the world around him, cigarette hanging in his hand displicently as he stares off the horizon.

Lance’s heart does a somersault. Something rouses lower down too, especially after taking in the back sight of those impossibly tight jeans... His legs are already starting to move, drawn by the stupid, powerful attraction Keith apparently exerts on him.

But the voice of reason speaks in his brain. _If Keith’s here alone, that’s probably because he_ wants _to be alone. Are you about to embarrass yourself twice toni_ g _ht?_

Fuck. The wise voice is probably right. Lance has made it clear that he’s interested. If Keith wanted to meet him halfway, he’d have already. Untangling himself from Lance and running off outside the house should be enough warning sign that the interest isn’t mutual.

_But he kissed me back._

True. Fervently, if Lance remembers well. No! Bad, stubborn voice! It’s already been established that kissing back is _not_ reliable evidence.

_And it was such a good kiss too. Don’t you want to kiss him again?_

Ah, man. This won’t do. He should know better than to try and bargain with his lack of impulse control.

Okay. Pep talk time. Is this it? Because it’s now or never, either he goes in now or backs off before it gets awkward. Is he really that fucking desperate for the guy, that he’s willing to risk whatever dignity he has left and make one final move? All in this time, ask him directly. If Keith wants nothing to do with him, he’ll pick up his face from the floor and walk away. But if he says yes...

“Hey there, mami” he calls out, and Keith jumps a little. Goddamnit McClain.

“Oh, hey… didn’t see you there.” Keith glances at Lance over his shoulder for a moment, before turning back. Lance studies him carefully as he approaches, looking for any signs of flightiness. Okay, he doesn’t look ready to haul ass. Plus, he looks positively sober than earlier. Good. Good.

“So, hm…” Think, Lance, think. “Grabbing a smoke, huh?” Jesus fucking Christ.

“Yeah…” Keith stares off into the distance, making no effort to push the subject forward.

Lance closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He’ll have to do better than this if he really wants to charm this man. He knows he’s got game, he does. So he tries his best to ease the tension in his shoulders, allows his mind to roam the “Flirting 101” archives, courtesy of his mano Marco. He knows what he’s doing. He just needs to relax.

When Lance opens his eyes, Keith is still staring off, but as he speaks again, his voice is a lot lower. Steadier, more confident:

“So you been out here by yourself? While there’s a party going on in there?” Lance smirks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I just… needed a break to clear my head.” Keith turns his face back to him, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his nose. Lance is almost puzzled by how charming he finds the gesture, but he needs to stay focused.

“Not the party freak you’d expect a frat dude to be, huh?” Lance gets a chuckle out of Keith, which he chooses to interpret as a good sign. So he makes a play for more ground, leaning forward into the other’s personal space against the railing, holding his breath all the way.

“You’d be surprised.” Keith raises an eybrow, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d think… Keith was being sassy? “Let’s just say my head is kind of all over the place tonight…”

“Yeah? Still recovering from your last molly adventure?” Lance teases, suddenly elated by the openness in the other’s tone.

“Yeah, you could say that…” Keith snorts. Which only encourages Lance to abandon his filter:

“No wonder. Who knew you were packing those dance moves, eh?”

However, he soon regrets making such a bold move, as Keith shoots him an incredulous glare. Fuck, that was too definetely too soon, of course Keith would know he was talking about their dancing, why didn’t he keep his big mouth—

“Look who’s talking!” Keith protets, but where Lance expects to find anger, there’s amusement! He even offers a sly squint, before nudging: “I saw the little performance you and Hunk pulled earlier...” Oof. That was a close one.

“So you _were_ watching!”

Keith’s face turns a rich shade of red.

“Maybe… What about you? How come ‘Life of the Party Lance McClain’ is out here making small talk instead of being back inside enjoying his fame?” Keith smiles sheepishly, and it’s almost endearing. Lance has officially lost track of how to read this guy...

“What can I say? I’m a people person. Gotta get know the dudes you’re sharing a bathroom with.” Lance stretches out, arms extending into Keith’s personal space as he tries to reign in the warm feeling at being called ‘life of the party’. “Or maybe I just got ulterior motives…”

Keith whips his head back to look at him, slightly widened eyes telling him he got the reaction he was expecting. Score!

“Ulterior motives, huh?”

Then Keith puts out his cigarette on the porch wood- Wow, he’d be in big trouble if Shiro saw him doing that— but Lance couldn’t care less, because Keith is turning his whole body to him now.

Lance makes his move slowly, brushing the side of his hand against the one Keith is resting on the railing. Keith doesn’t pull back. He feels the familiar pull inside him, the need to go for the kill. They lean closer, knees touching. Keith has the same look on his face he did earlier...

Alright. It’s now or never. So he takes the plunge.

“Look, I’m gonna be honest with you.” Keith blinks, dazed by Lance’s sudden change in tone. He takes a long pause, breathing slowly, trying to gather his nerves. Face hot and heart hammering, he finally speaks: “You can’t deny there’s something going on between us. But I’m getting some mixed signals here, so—”

“You’re… not wrong.” Keith cuts in, rolling his eyes. “It’s just that…”

And then his eyes drop to Lance’s lips again. Right before darting back up, but Lance has already read him. Confidence blooms inside him, as his own eyes are drawn to Keith’s parted lips. His ragged breath. And is it him or are his cheeks flushed red…?

Fuck, if this dude isn’t as attracted to Lance as he is to him. It’s on.

His mind lights up with an idea.

Up in each other’s spaces as they are now, Lance backs away slightly, and their legs disconnect. For a moment, his body protests the loss of Keith’s warmth. Except Keith immediately moves his leg back, and his whole body lights up on fire.

“Look mami, it’s pretty straightforward. If you want something, then do it. If you don’t, walk away.” Lance says, dying to let go of all caution and just… claim those lips again. Just a little longer....

“The things I want tend not to be healthy for me...” Keith exhales, the engines turning in his brain almost visible. He shakes his head, causing a few loose strands to escape from his ponytail. “I tend to want precisely the kind of thing that will fuck me up.”

“Like what...?” Lance’s voice drags, words coming out of their own accord. Keith has that effect on him. “Me?”

Okay, maybe he’s still _a little_ drunk.

“I _shouldn’t…!_ ” Keith whines, almost tortured now. It takes Lance all his self restraint to stick to plan.

“Look, I’m not pushing anything here. If you stick to that answer, I’ll pull back.” Lance finds himself saying the words, confidence artificially built into his voice. There’s no going back now. “I’ll ask again. Do you want this?”

“Fuck it. _Yes_.”

Their bodies crash against each other. Lance finds Keith’s lips as swiftly as the other entangles his hands in his hair and tugs _hard_. Fuck. This feels amazing.

The growing tension crashes against them like a powerful wave. The undertow tangles them up in each other, and soon they’re stumbling further back into the balcony, away from possible prying eyes and sinking further into the dark.

Lance drives Keith back into the wall, rushed hands roaming his exposed skin. Keith slots their hips together and ruts against him, moaning into his mouth. Lance reels in a desperate moan of his own, and his head spins as Keith’s lips move from his lips to his neck, blood coursing under the sensitive skin as he nibbles and kisses his way down his throat.

“Holy shit…” Lance allows the words to escape. This mouth will be the death of him...

“What? Think you’re the only one with the tricks?” Keith’s bratty tone flips a new switch. Lance digs his fingers into the small of his back in retaliation, drawing a particularly rough bite out of him.

“Come here, you.” He lifts one hand to cup Keith’s cheek, drawing him away from his neck to kiss him hungrily again. Ah, he’s quickly losing his leverage to this ridiculous, mullet-having-

He gasps when an unexpected hand palms him through his shorts. He hadn’t realised he was _this_ eager to be touched, wow. He rocks into the touch, until…

Until the hand is gone.

“Holy shit mami, you play dirty!” He leans away to shoot Keith a berating glare.

Keith is plastered to the wall, watching him like he’s having the time of his life. Wild hair falling around his face, sultry eyes peering at Lance like he’s some delicious treat, chest pulsing heavily to the rhythm of his breaths… He’s never seen anyone look so fuckable before.

He knocks their foreheads together, chests heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Lance lifts a hand to brush Keith’s cheek. His skin, his hair… Lance’s tangled up in all of it. Keith shuts his eyes and melts into the touch, and Lance’s heart jumps at his  sudden mellow demeanor. Oh man, this one is full of surprises… Lance can’t help but brush his lips against the corner of his mouth, to keep _some_ contact, any contact—

“Lance…” Keith pleads, drawing out a pleased sigh from Lance “I want you. I want you so bad…”

“I’m all yours, mami.” Lance whispers in his ear.

Keith pulls Lance back to look him in the eyes, fire blazing inside them. His lips curl up into a cheshire cat smile, that leaves Lance’s heart beating fast, somewhere between very excited and _very_ scared.

“Then let’s go.”

Before Lance realises, Keith has yanked him by the hand and pulled him back towards the door. Adrenaline grows inside him as Keith leads them back inside the house. It’s almost empty now. They leap past the few remaining drunken youths, one last lonely strobing light blinking to the sound of a decadent, late-party playlist. Not a familiar face in sight, not a soul aware of the antics unfolding between them. Lance’s hand trapped inside Keith’s as he pulls him forward and forward, the party might be dead, but this may well be the first time Lance has felt _alive_ tonight.

They’re outright running up the stairs now, and Lance feels this unexpected urge to giggle.

Keith practically shoves him inside the bathroom. They share this conspiratory look, smiling like they’re both committing some great transgression, before Keith pushes him back against the door and crashes their lips again. The forceful pace makes Lance’s head buzz. He’s discovering so many new things tonight. For one, how he _loves_ being manhandled like that by Keith.

Their kisses don’t last long this time.

Butterflies coil inside Lance’s chest as Keith untangles from him and takes a moment to breathe the hot air of his lungs into Lance’s mouth. Shivers running down his spine, Lance opens his eyes to find Keith’s gaze pinned on him, peering through heavy lids. He’s starting to grow used to being stared at like that… Maybe he likes it.

Then there’s Keith’s cold touch under the hem of his shirt, which he hikes up to Lance’s armpits, exposing the rise and fall of his chest. Dark eyes travel down his body, and his fingers soon follow suit, tracing the planes of his torso— down and down to the thin path of fuzz that leads inside his shorts. Lance presses his back even harder against the door, hands scrabbling for purchase against wood as he watches Keith kneel before him on the linoleum floor. His messy hair and swollen lips are the utter picture of perfection.

Skilled fingers unbutton Lance’s pants, and he jumps at the sudden, almost painful friction of fabric against sensitive skin. Damn, he’s never been so hard in his life.

“Holy shit, mami, hurry up.” He’s not the begging kind, he’s not. He _makes_ others beg. What the fuck is happening to him?

“Patience...” Keith bites his lip, clearly enjoying the sight of Lance’s pride unfolding before him. He makes a show of slowly peeling off his gloves and tossing them on the floor. The promise of what those hands might be up to has Lance biting hard on his lip. The little shit runs his now-free hands up and down Lance’s thigh, the touch surprisingly soft spreading warmth all the way up to… Fine, Lance will cave.

“Hm. Please…”

“Shit, you look so good, squirming like that.” Keith gives in, not before letting out a wry snicker, but _finally_ releasing Lance from the confinement of his pants. “Oh wow, someone’s happy to see me.”

“Oh, you don’t say?” Lance cackles, as he tries to read Keith’s reactions.

“What? You want me to compliment your dick?” He does look pretty amused.

“Isn’t that, like, common courtesy or something?” Lance plays along, gladly taking the bait for a bit of banter. If anything, to distract himself from how badly he wants to beg Keith to put him in his mouth.

“Maybe.” Keith teases, this time smiling genuinely behind the vixen façade. Lance could almost be entertained by the sight of him having fun at his expense. Almost. But then his fingers wrap around Lance purposely, cold against his hot, pulsating skin, and he tries his best not to curse under his breath. Holy mother, how is he not melting just from Keith’s touch?

“How’s this for common courtesy then?”

Lance pulls his lip up as he tries to think of a saucy comeback, but then Keith starts to slide his hand up and down purposefully, and his eyes roll back into his head. Oh wow. Keith’s other hand joins in, and Lance finds himself bucking into the touch, desperate for more.

“Keith…” The name drips down his tongue, a silent plea. Keith halts still, and Lance looks down confused.

He catches Keith’s dark eyes lighting up, and there’s barely time to register the reaction before his grip fastens and he dives in to press his velvety tongue flat against Lance’s flesh.

And then Lance is gone.

Stars dance across his vision as he shuts his eyes forcefully. Holy Mother of God.

Keith is a master. His velvety lips rise and fall around Lance, and he finds himself spreading his legs, slipping down the door as Keith works his magic. Palming Lance with one hand and stroking him with another, he gains leverage on his length, deeper and deeper.. The _sounds_ he makes, wet and slick and absolutely disgusting but, oh, oh so very lovely. His skilled mouth works Lance into a rhythm, building up until he’s digging his nails into the wood, losing himself to sweet, _sweet_ torture...

Then Keith slows down, and Lance almost curses the loss. He’s ready to protest, ask why the hell they’re stopping. But Keith drags his tongue across him, warmth lingering at his tip. Lance’s toes curl in anticipation, and when the cold air of the bathroom starts to prick at his skin for a _bit_ too long—

Lance makes the mistake of peeping through his lids to risk a glance: he finds Keith’s open mouth, tongue flat under his head, the look on his face straight out of a bad porno. He shouldn’t find it that hot, he shouldn’t but...

Then Keith’s tongue presses firm against the underside of his head. His hands come back up to twist around his base, strong as he works his mouth around the tip.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

_Where did he learn this, oh my God._

Oh wow. This is it. He’s about to—

Lance sinks further into the warmth of Keith’s mouth, hips acting of their own accord and snapping up to bury himself deeper, and he kinda hopes Keith’s okay with that because he can’t _bring_ himself to stop now. He’s almost…!

“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shi- Ah!”

Lance is pretty sure he died and went to heaven. For a while his mind just... blanks as he rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

Until he starts to come down from the high and tentatively peeks through his eyelids.

The picture he finds almost kills him again. There is Keith, still crouched between his legs, swiping his thumb across his cheek to collect whatever’s left of Lance on his face and lick it clean. His eyes pierce right through Lance, sharp curiosity stamped across his features like a cat.

Lance’s stomach does a flip and his heart drums against his ribcage. Keith’s _studying_ Lance’s orgasm face.

“Holy shit, erhm… wow.” He babbles, trying to fish the words out of his foggy mind. Apparently his last two brain cells have forsaken his ability to form words. That, or Keith sucked his dick into stupidity. “That was...”

Keith finally snaps back into reality, blinking repeatedly as he stands up.

“Pretty nice to watch?” He completes the sentence. The proximity and sustained eye contact overwhelm Lance even more, and he fumbles with his belt awkwardly trying to shove himself back inside his shorts.

“I was gonna say pretty fantastic, but whatever floats your boat.” Wow, really McClain?

Keith’s eyes glint with interest, and Lance finds himself looking for an excuse to shift the focus away from himself.

“So… What can I do in return for the wonderful treatment?” he hooks his fingers into the belloops of Keith’s jeans, pulling him closer. Keith mellows into the touch, allowing Lance to invade his personal space and and wait for their lips to touch. He’ll probably taste himself on Keith, but he couldn’t care less at this point. He’s rapidly becoming that mouth’s number 1 fan. Still, he waits for Keith to meet him halfway, furthering the anticipation building between them.

“Yeah, uhm…” Keith’s lips brush against lance’s, breathing out the words as he mumbles, and leaving Lance hungry for contact. But he waits... “I’m good actually.”

Wait, what?

And then Keith backs down, allowing his pelvis to stay pressed against Lance but resting his hands on his blue shirt, a barrier between them. Lance can feel it in Keith’s pants that he’s definitely _not_ good. His fingers tap against Keith’s hips, trying to ride out the tension before he gets too caught up on what this means.

“No doubt, mami. You sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?” He smooths his hand up and down Keith’s back one last time, dragging out the contact for as long as he can.

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“Damn, and here I was thinking every guy wanted his dick sucked.” The words spill out of Lance before he can think them through. Soon as they’re out there, and Keith winces and squints at him, he realises he said the wrong thing.

“Well, not all of us are sex junkies like you.”

Says the guy whose face was a dripping mess less than a minute ago!

“Wow, okay! I offer to get you off after a fantastic blowjob and you make a horrible remark like that? I’m offended!” Lance lets out a strained snicker, and he’s not sure whether he’s trying to ease the tension with humour or further it.

“Oh, are you really?”

“I mean… is that really what you think of me?” His voice shakes, and Lance tries to pass a charming toothy smile to mask it.

But it feels like a scowl.

He’s never thought of himself like that, and honestly it makes him feel a little uneasy. There’ a sharp twist in his chest, and he realises it’s resentment.  What’s wrong with liking sex, and why would Keith say something that cruel anyway? If he had such a low opinion of Lance’s sex life, why the fuck did he agree to being a part of it?

Keith furrows his brows and analyzes Lance’s face for a couple seconds, and his cheeks start to feel hot under the scrutiny of the other’s gaze. Then something inside him must shift, because his features soften and he offers Lance a soft smile.

“No, not really. I’m sorry I was mean.” he mutters, shaking his head. Lance can’t help but smile back, dropping the tension he hadn’t realised his shoulders were holding. “C’mon, I’m starving. I’ll hit the kitchen and make a sandwich, wanna come with?”

Lance considers it for a moment. He has a very strict rule to go back to his own room after sexy times.

But screw it. Heading to the kitchen for sandwiches isn’t exactly the same as cuddling in bed together anyways. So he goes.

And Keith looks… uncannily gentle as he chops ingredients atop the plastic cup-littered counter. He doesn’t turn on the lights, the entire room silhouetted by the street lights coming through the window.

He’s making two sandwiches, without even asking if Lance wanted one. This tranquil creature feels like someone else entirely from the skittish loner that avoided Lance throughout the party, or cheeky bastard that pulled him inside that bathroom and whispered dirty words in his ear. Something warm and fuzzy bubbles inside Lance at this realisation, which is probably a little weird, but... That’s a problem for sober-Lance tomorrow.

Maybe it’s just whatever’s left of the alcohol in his system, or the fact that it’s almost 4am and the quiet of the late night usually has that effect— but Lance finds himself unabashedly staring at Keith as he hums, absorbed in his own work. What’s he thinking of? Is he thinking of Lance? About what they did tonight?

Lance wants to ask. But he doesn’t.

Keith has a way to go back and forth in his moods, the lines between bite and banter blurrier the more Lance interacts with him. He can’t quite figure out what’s going on inside that charming, thick haired head of his.

Keith is a delicious mystery, and Lance can’t help but want to stay around to try and solve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy.  
> I was not expecting this to turn into a 13.5k monstrosity! I'll need a small break to recover before the next chapter, but it's already outlined and I plan on updating the fic a lot more often now! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving kudos and a comment, these are a great encouragement!
> 
> Also, if you'd like to see the art that inspired this fic, you can look up the #daftprettyboysau tag on Instagram! See you next time ♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Keef...!
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos/comment if you enjoyed this chapter! I absolutely live for feedback, especially if you guys have any say about the pacing or characterisation so far.
> 
> Also, you can check my Instagram @jaybeleart for all the art that started this fic!


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